Eat Your Heart Out
by coincidenced
Summary: "Aika, if I were to name one emotion that floods me whenever my eyes catch yours, that emotion would not be love. It would be regret; that and everlasting guilt." Kuroro X OC
1. Inaugural Game

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 1: Inaugural Game**

"_To be perfect is to be unable to improve any further, and as a scientist, I find that to be a truly detestable thing."  
-Kurotsuchi Mayuri (Bleach)_

Small and fifteen years of age, a slender figure curled herself into a corner set far back in an alley. Dusk was beginning to fall, but she made no move to stir. Only the sand around her did such a thing, carrying with it the wind and debris that consisted of plastic bags and pungent odors, things of that sort.

Eagerly, she tore into the loaf of bread she had manage to scrounge from the old man who ran a store stand. As she chewed the hard outer part of the bread, she flipped open the book she had been learning how to read. It was a rather large book, one with the back cover torn off and pages yellowed from age and use. There were about four-hundred pages to the novel. It was a painstaking process, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. There was something fascinating about the letters artistically sprawled on the paper that spelled out for her a life entirely different from her own.

She swallowed the dry wheat, craving water or something to drink, but stifled the urge, instead settling for attempting to decipher the next paragraph.

She had long since figured out that books were the best things next to food and shoes. Food was always great of course; she could not remember the last time she had not felt hungry. And shoes wore out quickly with the amount of running she was required to do, and without them, she could easily step on something she wasn't supposed to, given that she lived in Meteor City; thus the dilemma. But books, now, books were entertainment, a makeshift pillow, and a compacted alternate universe, all simultaneously. Nodding once and biting into the loaf again, she decided that shoes were probably priority; then came books, and then food.

"Aika." A scolding and achingly familiar voice came.

The girl jumped, almost choking, dropping her book out of surprise. The front of it closed on her, and she frowned as she lost the page. Reluctantly replying to her name, she crossed her arms and puffed.

"What do you want old man?" She blew her bangs from in front of her eyes; she spoke with a full mouth.

"Ah, that's no good." Another figure rounded the corner of the alley and began making its way toward her. "You need to show some respect for your elders."

"I thought I specifically told you not to," she paused to swallow, "call me that name."

"It means love song." He protested.

"It means funeral song." She said abruptly. "We went over this old man." She tossed the rest of her bread nonchalantly away from her. "My parents never cared about me."

"So much pessimism in one little body." He sighed.

The sun had finally met with the rim of the earth, beginning to dip under the surface. Shadows had begun to grow longer and become more menacing.

"I'm a relatively optimistic pessimist then." Aika leapt to her feet and began to stretch. "Are you here for the chess match?"

"Of course I am. That was the deal right?"

The streetlight over their heads flickered to life as Aika sighed. Immediately, bugs began to buzz and swarm toward the source. It was a meager source of illumination in the threatening abode of Meteor City, but it did them well and allowed the two to enjoy their little game.

The man, finally stepping under the brightness of the lamp, revealed his features. He was a kindhearted old man, the type you knew always had a smile on his face. Unfortunately, it was the kind ones the world had a tendency to be cruel to, and their little city enjoyed being satirical in its own sense. He walked with his eyes closed. The left side of his face was disfigured, and the skin rough and discolored.

"How are sales going?" Aika asked as she usually did, pulling a splintering chess board out from behind a tin trash can. This alley was her territory, and all the other children knew it. Anything she kept in the particular strip went untouched; still, she had the irresistible urge to hide anything she considered precious. Subconscious and instinctive, it had become second nature to her- fighting for everything she ever needed, that was.

"Oh, they're great." He groaned as he lowered himself to the ground to sit on it. "We sold all of our fruit today."

"That's good to hear."

With a thump, she laid the board out and went to find the bowl they kept their chess pieces in.

A loaf of bread for a game of chess. That was the deal. The girl sometimes had trouble getting by, sometimes going the entire day without a bite to eat. Though she tried to pretend otherwise, on days like those, it seemed that the man just knew and brought her the bread he had not sold.

He was a lonely person. His significant other had died several years back in the very accident that had mauled his face and taken half his vision, his left eye.

"Aika, when are you going to beat me in a game of chess?" He lamented playfully. "Winning all the time is rather boring."

"Perfection is what's boring." She shrugged, and sat down on the opposite side of the board, placing the chess pieces in their appropriate places. "You can still do plenty of interesting things as you win."

"Am I the black or white pieces today?" He asked.

"You tell me."

"I'll be using algebraic notation today."

"Alright."

The old man made the first move.

"Pawn to C3."

Aika moved her right hand to shift the white pawn to the corresponding square.

The first time, she had been mortified, as if she thought she was simply playing chess with herself. Soon she found out it was far from it. The old man was clever and very wily. It provided her almost as much entertainment as her novels.

"I'm moving my pawn to D4." She narrated. As an afterthought, she added: "I meant D4 from my perspective."

"You're making things difficult aren't you?" He chuckled.

"That's my job."

Soon after they were well into the throes of the match, Aika spoke.

"Oyaji, you're only blind in one eye, right?"

"Queen to B6." He crossed his arms. "Hmm, yes, that's right. Why?"

"My knight takes your queen." The girl said triumphantly. And then: "Why don't you open your other one? Keeping it closed is… it's kind of a waste, isn't it?"

"Rook takes Knight." He answered, smiling slightly.

After a pause he began speaking again. "I like being blind. Meteor City can be a wonderful place. Lush grass as far as the imagination can reach. No one is ugly and everyone is beautiful. I can hear better than I normally would if I were to rely on my sight. I can appreciate more."

"Bishop takes rook. Check." Aika smirked.

Again, the old man sighed. "Ignorant as ever I see. Pawn to E7. Checkmate."

A dead silence ensued. And then a low groan. He heard a thump as she fell backwards to lie on the floor of the alley. "Do you make it a point to delude yourself, old man?" She asked.

"If you call optimism delusion," he hauled himself up to his feet. "Yes, I do. That and I make it a point to lecture you." He chuckled to himself.

"Oyaji, when are you going to tell me your name?"

He only laughed again as he began to make his way out of the alley. "The day you accept yours." He answered simply.

The old man rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Aika tried to close her eyes and enhance her hearing as the man seemed to be able to do, but to no avail.

Above her, the lamplight went out with a spark.

"_I'm not little. I just live in a big world."  
-Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist)_

The sun had graced Meteor City with its presence as Aika walked, more like scampered, down along its streets. Garbage littered the roads everywhere. The citizens had become so used to the constant presence of waste that no one bothered to even kick it to the side anymore.

The main trash heap that their city was known for existed smack in the middle of it. It was an interesting place, and surprisingly very quiet. Rampant in disease and rodents, the inhabitants made a point to avoid it. Aika enjoyed the solemnity that could be found there. Since it was such a large place, people crowded the perimeter of the town, so the streets were always crowded, bustling, and overheated.

Upon reaching the foot of the mountain, she leapt upward toward the apex of the trash heap nimbly, jumping from place to place to find decent footing to ascend. Once she finally did, she plopped down and sat on the remains of a television with a shattered screen. The wind howled around her, and Aika inhaled deeply.

The air was rank and terrible, but it was so mournful. The girl looked at her hands. Sores and abrasions covered them. The small, open wounds stung horribly, but she made it a point not to show anyone. Perhaps that was the reason she would only hang out with the old man; he didn't question her appearance, or wounds, or reasons.

Small movements happened sporadically all around her; the teenager didn't need to look to understand that the rats were uneasy with her presence.

One darted from under the cover of a trashed bulletin board. With startling speed, Aika grabbed the rodent by its neck and pressed with her thumb and index finger on either side of its head so it could not nip her.

She examined it closely and after a moment's thought, she muttered, "No good," and let it loose. Gratefully, the rat sped away, back toward the bulletin board it had been finding shelter beneath. The sores would have to heal on their own or wait until she could find something uncontaminated.

Voices that made no extra effort to conceal their presence suddenly poked in through her consciousness as she registered them.

"… The head is just another leg for the sake of…" A surprisingly soothing voice made its presence known.

Aika slowly got down off of the broken television and gingerly stepped onto the trash heap, her curiosity getting the better of her. Nobody in the city enjoyed the dumping grounds; at best, it was a fact of life they were forced to accept.

As far as she could tell, the person who owned the voice was not that far away. It sounded close, closer than she would have liked, to be honest. As she rounded the mountain, taking caution to stay quiet, Aika caught a glimpse of the back of a figure. It was clad in black, with onyx hair to boot. In front of him were five other silhouettes.

She stilled herself, quieting and slowing her breathing. People had a tendency to be hostile here, and congregations were rare, much less existent. Who were these people?

"And what do we have here?"

Aika suddenly felt a malicious presence not three inches away from her neck as the hairs there and on her arms rose. This was not the voice she had originally heard. From the inner circle she had been staring at not half a second ago, a figure was now missing.

This voice was pitched slightly higher, and reminded her of the sound of a snake shedding its skin.

Acting on adrenaline and instinct, Aika lashed out and roundhouse kicked –or tried to roundhouse kick- the shadow behind her. But fear had made her lose her control and she wound up using much more force than necessary. Her kick ate only air and she had difficulty regaining her balance.

"What's going on Feitan?" The voice from before called, sounding more annoyed than concerned.

"We have another rat rummaging around."

Aika hopped backward a few feet, gaining a certain safe distance. This man's speed was incredible; when was the last time she had been caught so utterly off guard?

This Feitan was clothed similarly to the form she had been previously been staring at, though his hair was shorter, and parted differently, and he had narrower eyes. His lips were curled into a cruel smirk, and his irises showed nothing but a yearning for animalistic carnage.

"Leave her alone, Feitan. There's no reason to go after every single one." The only female in the group spoke up.

"Macchi, are you ordering me around?"

"I'm stating facts. And pointing out the fact that you rudely interrupted Leader."

So that's what they were; angst-ridden children who never had model figures in their lives, trying to make themselves a world of their own.

"I'm just having some fun."

Aika heard no more as he charged toward her.

This man was not a human. He moved so quickly he left after-images in his terrifying wake.

The girl _heard_ before she_ felt _something break in her body. Suddenly, her right arm was twisted at a strange angle, and Feitan was now behind her, instead of facing her.

The pain was incredible, rippling through her entire frame, and she fought to keep her knees from shaking, her eyes from filling. An unbecoming sound escaped her lips.

"Some fun." Another sitting figure snorted.

Aika didn't understand what was going on. This was not a typical human reaction to watching someone have their elbow shattered. The five people couldn't have been much older than her, judging from appearances, perhaps three or four years at most.

"Shut the hell up, Nobunaga."

Aika shuddered, and decided to leave her arm be. Trying to set it back at this point would be both dangerous and a waste of time.

He charged again, this time grinning instead of smirking.

Thank god she was left-handed.

She could see that Feitan had dangerously elongated and sharp nails. Bringing his fingers close together, he could make a makeshift dagger.

Scratch that; he could make something more dangerous than a dagger.

Acting quickly, Aika sidestepped the jab and grabbed his forearm. It was only for a second, but she could see the shock that registered in her opponent's gaze.

The teenager inhaled deeply again, and tightened her grip.

Puzzled and startled, the dark-haired male yanked his arm free and jumped backwards once. Cautiously, he examined his arm, opening and closing his fist. His nails were no longer sharp.

"What did you do to me?" He hissed, eyes narrowing further.

Aika shrugged, eyes fleeting to her own arm. "Beats me." Her elbow was beginning to bruise and discolor a result of his harsh treatment toward it. It looked nasty, and painful.

Feitan reared to rush toward her once more, but he was interrupted.

"Feitan," the suave voice stopped him in his tracks. "That's enough. Leave her alone."

Aika's attacker paused for a fleeting moment, and then straightened himself up, dusting his clothes off. After shooting her an intense glare, he abruptly turned around and returned to the rest of the group.

The girl only stood there for a few moments, unsure of what to do. Was she free to go now?

"Girl, what's your name?" The voice came obviously from the figure who they called their leader. He turned around to face her, and suddenly, she could not move. Soulless pits, like the steep drop to the ocean floor, his gaze was immobilizing. Ochre irises did not relax their grip on her.

Before anyone could stay another word, Aika had fled, turned around and sped down the side of the dumping grounds, left hand clutching at her elbow, heart hammering against her ribcage as if it wanted to burst free of its own confines.

Didn't look back.

END CHAPTER 1

"_Good is predicated on corruption and evil."  
-Tsunenaga Tamaki (Deadman Wonderland)_

**A/N: Hey, Mimi here! Wow, I haven't written in such a long time.**

**Just so you guys know, this portion of the fic will be set in Meteor City, the Geneiryodan's hometown. The gathering that Aika saw was the beginning of the formation of the Troupe.**

**And also, I haven't read the manga for Hunter X Hunter, so this fic will be set solely on the anime.**

**I hope you guys like how this is turning out. I have this terrible habit of abandoning my stories sometimes but its summertime now, and I basically have this one all figured out! Thanks for giving this fic a chance, yay! Read and Review, please!**


	2. Omerta

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 2: Omerta**

* * *

"_Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead."  
-Benjamin Franklin_

* * *

"What's got you all riled up Feitan?"

The aspiring swordsman sat atop a splintering crate resting on the dusty ground. The sky was orange, and streaked as he cast a sidelong glance to the man of Chinese descent sitting a few feet away from him.

"Can't have been that kid, eh?" Nobunaga laughed raucously, hands hidden in opposing sleeves.

"Shut the hell up, Nobunaga."

Feitan tsked, annoyed, and tried to shake his arm out. It was numb, weak, and he had an irresistible desire to slam it against a hard surface, preferably Nobunaga's face, both to cease the taunting and to regain some degree of feeling in it.

"Want me to take a look at it?" Machi offered voice as icy as ever.

"Don't touch me, woman."

She shrugged. "Your loss."

"Anyways," Kuroro cleared his throat, hands still in the pockets of his suit. "Shall we get back on track?"

Met with silence, he took it as affirmation. After a brief pause he began speaking again, though there was not much left to say.

"Above all, make the right call." The Leader stated simply. "My orders may be top priority, but I am not your top priority. Our goal is not to keep an individual alive, but the spider."

"Was that all you called us here to explain?" Machi questioned.

Had it been anyone else, Kuroro might have shot them a look. Her loyalty, however, was one he did not ever question. Judging from the look on the female's face, she had meant no disrespect.

"No, actually." He shifted his stance, and pulled his hands out of his pockets. "We have a new mission."

Nobunaga groaned as Pakunoda made herself comfortable.

"What's it this time?"

"The assassination of a certain group of men." Kuroro answered honestly. "The Mafia is an underground criminal organization had prides itself on its unity and furtive nature. There are a good fifteen people who have worked with a certain man and broken the Mafia's Code of Silence."

"What's the good in killing some people if they've already spilled the beans?" Uvo piped up, expression serious.

Kuroro suppressed the urge to smirk. An overly muscular middle aged man possessing no qualms with snapping necks and crushing skulls asking, what's the good? There was no good.

"In case you haven't noticed," Franklin directed his gaze toward the afro'd man, "we are a mercenary group that does the bidding of the Mafia. They don't need a reason; and neither do we."

"Ahhh," the samurai sighed, long and loudly. "what's with all the hum drum about this Code of Silence?"

"The Mafia holds its codes and moral system in high regard." Kuroro commented.

"Big words for a slightly immoral group of people." He snorted.

"Like we're any better." Pakunoda said sharply.

That seemed to do the trick, and the group settled down.

"Anyways, when Omerta and the Code of Silence are broken, the transgression is punishable by death. Since thirteen of the fifteen men are hiding away here in Meteor City, the dirty work has been passed down onto us."

"Are we getting paid?" The pink-haired woman inquired.

"Generously." The Leader answered. He pulled out thirteen photographs, all taken from suspicious, slanted angles. "These are our targets. Take your pick. We have a three week deadline."

"Each of us gets two, then?"

"I'll be taking the one left over," the ochre-eyed Dancho remarked, "since there are six of you."

Each Spider swiped two photos and began to study their targets.

"Oi, Nobu, that one looks stronger, let's switch."

"No way in hell."

"Eh? Come on!"

"Go away Uvo."

Kuroro curiously examined his own photograph. It was a rather elderly man. The left side of his face seemed to droop, and it was a different shade from the rest of him. Both of his eyes were closed –though it was more accurate to say that the left was stuck that way- and a tender smile painted his demeanor.

Deftly, the Leader folded the thick paper.

"We meet back here in three weeks time." He said quietly.

A swift nod from the each of his subordinates was all he needed to say the word.

"Disperse."

Forms blurring, the seven figures swiftly abandoned the junkyard.

* * *

"_I can only step on an ant so hard without crushing it."  
-Aizen Sosuke (Bleach)_

* * *

Aika glared at the rodent nibbling away at the fruit she'd brought back with her.

She sighed. For god's sake, all the waste dumped here must have had some radioactive affect on the wildlife –like there was any _wildlife_ to actually speak of in Meteor City; that or it had elements that could turn them rabid. The rats had no innate fear of humans anymore and she vaguely wondered how long it would take before it began to turn the citizens rabid as well.

Her uninjured arm shot out and grabbed it by its head, and she analyzed it slowly. Was it _actually_ rapid?

Its eyes seemed to be a normal color… And its teeth looked normal for a rat's... No foaming at the mouth either.

Carefully, Aika focused on it, and surely enough, she felt a strange occurrence begin to happen. The rat began to hiss and flail, gnashing its teeth and flapping its tail against her.

After several seconds had elapsed, the rodent went completely limp and Aika set it down on the ground gently as she took the left hand that had originally grabbed the rat and placed it over her right elbow; her _shattered_ elbow, for the love of god.

Immediately, a soothing sensation enveloped it, and the throbbing slowly subsided.

She kept it there for a few seconds more until the cooling feeling ebbed away.

"That's a clever way to get rid of the rat problem."

She jumped. And then sighed, exasperated.

"Old man, why do you keep on seeing the need to scare me out of my skin whenever you drop by?"

He chuckled, his laugh deep, soft, endless, like a lake constantly flowing into the ocean. "I'm not sure; it just seems to always turn out that way."

Confused, Aika turned toward the sun, only to find it almost finished with its daily trek across the expanse of the rolling sky; it was already time for the chess match. She wondered if including wasting time as one of her talents was a valid and acceptable thing to do.

"I guess I'll be the white pieces tonight?" She volunteered.

He nodded once.

Deftly setting up the chess board, Aika moved her first pawn.

The game dragged on for longer than usual that particular day. Aika found herself sitting on her legs, eagerly making predictions in her mind, thinking ahead. The old man took longer than usual to respond, hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Every once in awhile, he would touch his shoulder, exhaling heavily.

"What's wrong?" She finally questioned, upon examining his questionable behavior for some time.

"The air seems bitter tonight, doesn't it Aika." He commented.

She pointed her nose up and inhaled deeply, waiting several seconds before responding. "Just smells like trash, as always. To me anyways."

He only laughed in response. He was always laughing.

"I can feel the rats running around. They're dangerous tonight."

"Are you finally losing your mind old man?"

"Perhaps." He stood up. His expression had turned grave, his perpetual smile dissipating.

Shocked, Aika stood up too. "Where are you going? We haven't finished our match yet." _Why are you concerned? What are you hiding from me?_

"I seem to be very tired tonight…" _Something's going to happen. I need to leave._ He said this as his eyebrows knitted themselves together. "Leave the chessboard like that. We can finish tomorrow."

The girl had opened her mouth to argue when she was interrupted.

"You should listen to your elders, little girl."

Aika whipped around, heart leaping to her throat.

Standing some eight feet away from her in the innermost corner of the alleyway was the ochre-eyed man she had seen several hours before.

Immediately, she leapt backwards, fueled more by overwhelming fear than anything else.

Aika narrowed her eyes, straining to see the face of the man before her through the looming darkness. He was obviously the man she had seen at the junkyard, not the one that had broken her arm, but the one she had seen after that entire incident.

His gaze was rather frightening to be frank, and she found herself taking several steps back.

"You have good instincts." He stepped out from the shadows of the high alley walls. "Just horribly bad luck."

The old man smirked slightly. "I see, has the Mafia hired another group to do their dirty work yet again?" He opened his other eye. "You seem to be a bit young to be a part of a group that sits on the lap one of the most corrupt organizations in the world."

"You flatter me." He responded deadpan. "But we digress, Mister…" He took a look at a piece of paper he pulled from his pocket. "Mike Alabaster." The man finished. "Your time has come."

"Mike?" Aika spun around, making a valiant but nonetheless fruitless attempt to rid herself of the painful tension that seeped into her body. "Is that your name?"

"My name is nothing of importance," he commented, seemingly amused. "Nothing of importance, anyways."

"Are you going to tell the girl to leave?" The ochre-eyed man asked, slowly walking toward them. "You seemed to be in enough of a hurry to try to lead me away."

"I don't think she'd listen to me if I did." Mike chuckled in response.

Kuroro found it slightly unnerving to speak to a man who closed both of his eyes. He was used to staring his victims down when he killed them; the Leader had never given it a second thought. But finding that he could not read the senior's emotions, or predict what his next move might have been was unsettling.

It was easier on his conscience if his victims hated him; an eye for an eye made the entire process much simpler. He only sighed, mentally shrugging. It couldn't be helped; it wasn't as if he had a substantial amount of conscience anyways.

Kuroro directed his gaze toward the girl. The sight was one to behold; she looked like a cat that had been spooked, and if she had fur, it probably would have been spiked up.

"Aren't you the one that Feitan went after earlier today? Aika, was it?"

She didn't answer. "Will you really kill him?" She blurted out before she could contain herself. "Are you really going to kill him? You won't, right?"

He stopped his advance to fix his gaze on her curiously. The man tilted his head and answered: "Of course I'm going to kill him, it's my job. I suggest you move out of the way. He was kind enough to try to shield you from me. Take note."

"Why?" She persisted, trying to stall for time, though she didn't really understand why. It wasn't as if she could do anything.

"Why indeed?" He put his hands into his pockets and looked up into the deep sky, he stars blotted out by the excess of fumes in Meteor City. "You should ask the Mafia, if you're seeking an answer to that."

"Aika, you should do as he says and leave quickly." Mike urged.

There was some unspoken threat hanging over Aika. The young man before her had strange eyes. They were wide, and gleamed with near stoicism, reflecting both vitality and corruption. More than anything, they were eyes that absorbed endlessly, windows to an exceedingly intelligent –and lethally dangerous- mind.

She shuddered.

Dangerous.

"I thought he had broken your arm." Kuroro said curiously, looking at her again.

"He did." Aika responded cynically. "Shattered is a better word to use."

"Aika!" Mike exclaimed, interrupting. "You must leave!"

"I refuse!" She said in an equally obstinate tone of voice.

She heard a dusty gasp and the sound of something hitting the ground before she had even gotten a chance to turn around and face Mike.

Another three seconds and she realized the man had gone from being in plain sight to almost behind her. Mike was on the ground, though ironically, there was no blood in sight. Either that, or the veil of night made it too dark to see.

"No..." She frowned, taking a step backward. "No, this can't be-"

"Surely this isn't a new sight to a Ryuuseigai orphan? Death is a fact here, almost within the norm." The man stated coldly, as if listing mere figures.

It was all so _anticlimactic_. Wasn't there supposed to be valiant struggle, a bit of screaming and fighting and flipping and kicking? Wasn't the good guy always supposed to win?

She didn't realize she was speaking aloud until the other interrupted her thoughts. With a cruel smirk, he answered: "Mike Alabaster was not a _good guy_, little girl." Then more quietly he said: "What an unlikely duo to begin with."

"Why?" She repeated, feeling tears prick her eyes. "He was my only friend!" She started shouting, feeling her face get hot. "No one else ever comes near me!"

"Was he… important to you?"

"Mike was a good guy. To me, he was important." She growled.

"Little girl, why are you standing here talking to me?" Kuroro sighed. "Go to sleep. It's well past your bedtime."

She drew in a breath to retort something back –retort _what_back, there was nothing to _say_… but before she could say the first word, he was gone.

And so was the body beside her.

* * *

"_It was so gentle, so gentle that is was almost cruel."  
-Aisume_

* * *

She stayed up to watch the sun rise. Drying blood was beginning to turn brown on the dust ground next to her. Strangely enough, the chess board had not been touched.

She looked at her hands. Surely, this was not a normal reaction to watching someone get murdered right before your eyes. Shouldn't she have been traumatized like _everyone else_?

A pang hit her square in her chest when she realized that she didn't even get to see _how _Mike died. A knife wound? That was the most probable. Maybe the man had broken Mike's neck.

Mike, Mike, Mike.

Aika cringed, disliking how the name sounded, echoed, wouldn't let her go.

Aika suddenly lashed out at the chess board, hating how it sat there soundlessly, an aching reminder of last night.

A monster. A monster, monster, a monster. That's what she was. Again, she looked at her hands. She could not touch anything without feeling like a danger, could not flip the pages in her book before double checking that she wasn't focusing too much, could not hold the bread steady without having to forcibly calm the shaking in her fingertips. Hers were hands that stole, stole goods, stole food, stole life, stole everything and more and manipulated things for her own good.

Aika clawed herself to her feet and dragged her body over to the corner of the alley where the sun would not reach for several more minutes as it began its ascent.

Her foot suddenly brushed up against something, the photograph from last night.

Aika picked it up slowly, taking care with her hands. The man in the photograph was, without dispute, the old man she played chess with every night once the sun began to set, the old man who threw bread at her every damn day.

Crumpling it into herself, Aika balled up in the long shadows provided by the walls of the alleyway and waited for sleep to take her.

* * *

"_I cannot live, I cannot die, trapped in myself."  
-One by Metallica_

* * *

**A/N: AHAHAHAHA sorry my writing gets really bad after midnight, and guess what time it just so happens to be? Anyways, I'm trying to update more often and stay more motivated, to stay tuned!**

**ALSO. I JUST REALIZED THAT OCHRE MEANS A YELLOWISH GOLD COLOR. I AM VERY SORRY. KURORO'S EYES ARE OCHRE. I thought they meant like pitch black. But I'm too lazy to go back and search for my mistakes, I'm sorry. So pretend like I said black in those moments.**

**PLEASE reand and review, your guys' feedback always always always makes my day! Thank you for taking the time to do so! ^.^**

* * *

**A/N 2: HEY GUYS! :) so i did a once over of the chapter and realized that it was very disorganized and juvenile sounding. someone told me that my fanfiction kind of sucks so i tried going back and editing. sorry it hasn't been up to your standards haha. anyways, i fixed some inor spelling errors and tried to make more natural and flow a bit better. thanks for your support so far! i think ill go through and do this for most of the chapters since i've hit chapter 10 now ;) thanks again! see you soon!**


	3. Persona

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 3: Persona**

* * *

"_It's not justice if you don't go overboard."  
-Unzen Myouri (Medaka Box)_

* * *

Quietly, purposefully, a silhouette crouched low under the cover of the long fearsome shadows that stretched from the junkyard city's dilapidated buildings. The shadow shook with anger and found that it had to sheathe its knife in order to keep from swinging it around wildly.

It had been three days since Mike, his caporegime, had been killed. Mike had told him that it was coming. The Mafia had had other, more pressing matters to deal with at the moments, but soon, they would be hot on their heel again. Rats and snitches were dealt with accordingly in their institution, and were punished with nothing less than death.

Mike's death had been a sign, a sign that a string of murders would soon be taking place.

It was not as if there were no factions within the Mafia; they just happened to be one of the more moralistic ones. Unfortunately, the Mafia had morals that differed from theirs, and so, they were labeled to be killed.

Slowly, the silhouette breathed, silently calming himself. _Soon_, he thought to himself. This was _his_ city when night fell, and the newly formed Phantom Troupe, composed of justice-seeking, idealistic twenty-two year olds would have nothing on him.

He breathed again.

_Soon._

* * *

"_Revenge is cold, sweet, and somehow, it is not fattening."  
-Alfred Hitchcock_

* * *

Kuroro Lucifer was flying.

The sentence was debatable, but that was the closest he could come to describing the sensation. From buildingtop to buildingtop he leapt, wind slashing his own hair against his face.

"It's worth noting that the targets are proficient in zetsu." The pink-haired female next to him commented, her tone as cold as ever.

"Zetsu is often learned unconsciously," Kuroro said, "so it's usually an inaccurate representation of an opponent's skill." Then he paused for a moment, coming to stop on top of a dilapidated rooftop, blinking twice and questioning his sanity. "Do you think it's important?" He asked, casting a sidelong glance her way. If Macchi has broken her usual silence to mention something, _of course_ it was important.

Macchi came to a halt beside him, stopping swiftly. She only shrugged. "It's just a hunch."

A hunch. Riiight.

"No," he responded, "I trust your instincts."

Kuroro sighed and made a mental note to brace himself for a surprise attack, possibly an ambush sometime in the near future. Machi's quote-unquote hunches, were very rarely proved incorrect, and he had the feeling he would regret it if he failed to heed it now.

"Boss?" She questioned, eyes showing well-concealed curiosity. "Is something the matter?"

He stifled a chuckle and started moving again. She followed closely behind.

"Nothing's wrong, Macchi." He smirked gently.

"If you say so." The female answered.

"Let's hear that report." He said, shifting into his dancho persona.

"They're not all that much trouble. The Mafia's made up of pampered corrupts that are all bark and no bite, if they can't even take care of these scoundrels." Her eyes narrowed.

"That's good to hear." He almost laughed at the sight of her animosity. "So he's been taken care of?"

She nodded in affirmation. "I'll get rid of the other one tomorrow. He's good at hiding." She mentioned more quietly. "I can smell his apprehension."

"Mine seemed content to sit there." Kuroro slowed his pace. "I thought it would be more entertaining since he was caporegime."

"Pampered." Macchi repeated. "Appearances are deceiving."

"Does anyone else have anything to report?"

"I'm not their messenger."

Kuroro nodded. "Go get some sleep. Sunrise is in three hours."

Without another word Macchi sped ahead, leaving him behind.

The leader stopped again, this time coming to a halt on the sandy ground of the city. It was nighttime once again, and the streetlights were flickering.

Meteor City was such an utterly boring town, listlessly repeating the same routine day by day. The same streetlights never worked, the same bars were always full, and so the others always empty. Shouts filled the streets as drunken men gambled their lives away-

Silently, Kuroro slowly and deliberately inhaled, closing his eyes, hands in his pockets. _Smell the apprehension, huh?_

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Did I keep you waiting?"

The emotion Macchi had been detecting had not been apprehension.

"It wasn't a problem at all." The answer came.

It had been anxiety; anxiousness and irrepressible bloodlust.

A young man stepped out of an alleyway. His face was angular and his eyes were wide with malice.

"You're the one that slaughtered Mike?"

Now that he was speaking more clearly, Kuroro could detect a well hidden Italian accent. Japanese was apparently not an easy language to pick up for the Europeans. Macchi's well-concealed target.

"Such an aesthetically displeasing word," he frowned, "slaughtered. We were only doing our job."

"_You _were," Macchi's target corrected, eyes narrowing, "not we."

The phrase carried with it an interesting sense of finality, and Kuroro realized that those were the last words he would say before their battle ensued.

When he saw the man go in for a lunge, Kuroro reared back and delivered a kick that left the Italian skidding backwards a good fifteen feet.

After a few moments he straightened up, and Kuroro repressed the twitching at the corners of his lips. He kick had been meant to cripple, and the Leader had to admit, he was impressed. Or perhaps he had been expecting less, judging from Mike's lack of retaliation.

The Italian soon brandished a dagger. His grip was interesting to say the least, with the blade pointing upwards in favor of the more versatile horizontal slant. Kuroro exhaled exasperatedly; that usually meant that the blade was poisoned.

_He was one of those._

Inexperienced, naive, and completely at the mercy of his emotions.

Again, they leaped toward each other after a brief moment of respite. Kuroro didn't like carrying weapons around with him. He always had one or two, but they had never been his specialty –did he even _have_ a specialty?- and so his dodging skills had been forced to advance quite thoroughly.

After a brief jabbing session, the Italian seemed to become even more vengeful than before, and his strokes and swings began to lose their finesse. They became wider, stronger, and lost control.

Forcing himself to concentrate, the Leader ducked swiftly beneath the assault and slammed his hand into the Italian's sternum. Momentarily having shocked him, Kuroro grabbed the back of his head and slammed it mercilessly against the dusty ground.

When blood began to pool around his feet, Kuroro clapped his hands together, cleaning the grime off of them. He slowly began to realize a stinging sensation gathering in his left forearm.

Frowning, he examined it and saw a deep gash running along it.

Well when the hell had that happened?

Kuroro Lucifer resisted the urge to slam his own head against the nearest streetlight. Enjoying his battles was something he needed to stop doing. It made him reckless and the adrenaline output made his oblivious to pain.

Kuroro tried to clench his left hand, and hissed when he realized that he was having trouble doing so.

It was poison judging from the sensation, and Kuroro made a mental note not to move it anymore and keep calm to prevent its spreading.

He could always cut it off and ask Macchi to reattach it, but the female was not above asking for millions of zenny, so it was cost-defective, and besides, when would he next see her? They had just parted ways.

He did his best to squeeze the bad blood out of the wound, but it was beginning to coagulate, and try as he might, Kuroro couldn't think of a better solution. Kuroro nearly rolled his eyes as he focused his nen into his good arm, preparing to sever the left just below the elbow, and sighing deeply, he-

"Don't do that."

He paused, blinking. He hadn't sensed anyone approach him.

From the alleyway behind the one the now-incapacitated Italian had come from emerged the little girl Feitan had messed around with. Who was this brat, and why was she popping up everywhere?

"You shouldn't do that."

He relaxed his posture. "Enlighten me."

Without a word she began to scuttle over toward him.

Kuroro resisted the urge to jerk his arm back when she put her small hands on it. He watched her cautiously, eyes narrowing slightly as they took in her appearance.

She was short, and in surprisingly good shape for a street orphan. Her hair, originally brunette, had been lightened slightly by the scorching sun, and it was long, but slightly unruly. She wouldn't turn her eyes toward him.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know," came the response.

An interesting sensation ensued. The pressure building up in his forearm was suddenly released, and Kuroro found that he could move it again, albeit weakly. He turned his gaze toward the girl once again as she removed her hands.

Well, removed was not the right word. Her arms had slid off of his.

"Did you just absorb it?" He asked, brows coming together in confusion. Upon examining her hands, Kuroro found that her fingers were slightly discolored.

The girl shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Why?" He asked, for once, at a loss for words. "Don't you hate me?"

"Hate?" She repeated. "That's a pretty strong word." She sighed, and after a brief silence, she said, "No, I've decided that I don't. You said so yourself; you were just doing your job, right?"

"Is this the same thing you did to Feitan?" Kuroro lifted his arm slightly.

She frowned. "I think."

He waited for her to go on.

"All I'm really good for is sort of taking energy from people. And things." Still, she wouldn't make eye contact with him.

_And obviously, if she can take life energy, she'll get everything that's mixed in with it too._ Kuroro realized. _Why wasn't she being affected by the poison?_

Kuroro immediately took a step back, examining the girl again. The micropyles on her body had already been opened, and her nen was warm and gentle. A Specialist? Was her power even nen related?

"You took my life energy?"

She looked away angrily. "I can give it back if you want."

Kuroro nearly chuckled as her cheekiness. "Why?" He asked again.

"Why do you murder people?" She shot back.

He could have easily said for the money, but truthfully, that wasn't his motivation.

"Because," she answered first after a moment's worth of thought, calming her bristling, "It's the only thing I'm good at. And if someone could have been saved if I had done something within my power," she shrugged, "I guess I'd have trouble living with myself the next morning."

Kuroro looked at her curiously. Fifteen? Sixteen? She couldn't have been much younger than him.

"I owe you one." He looked at his arm again. He was slowly beginning to feel some strength return to it.

"Play chess with me then."

The girl in front of him froze, looking confused with herself, and her hands shot to her mouth. She looked mortified.

Was that really all she wanted? He tilted his head slightly. "Every day at 10 o'clock sharp, was it?"

She only nodded, color flooding her cheeks.

"I'll be here tomorrow then." He shrugged.

Turning around, he picked up the body beside him. "Thank you." He said quietly, and deftly began his flight again.

* * *

"_This world isn't as bad as you think."  
-Celty Sturluson (Durarara!)_

* * *

He destroyed her in the first match. Aika should have known that those cold and calculating eyes were good at what they did.

They were cunning and icy, difficult to read, unnerving. She made it a habit never to look into his eyes. She didn't like his, and she didn't like her own.

His moves were always deliberate, confident, and they had a quality that made her second-guess herself. Every once in awhile Aika would sneak a glance his way, but whenever she did, he seemed to notice. Not obviously either, but with subtlety, with a muffled snort or a slight upward turning of the corners of his lips.

He was so charismatic it made her sick, voice flowing and kind, deceiving and conniving. For god's sake, people wrote _novels_ about the charisma he carried with him wherever he went.

Unlike Mike, he hadn't made a habit of scaring her every time he made an appearance. He purposely made his footsteps audible, and Kuroro's tone was soft, almost soothing; not what one would expect from the leader of a pack of ruthless, bloodthirsty thieves. Whenever he came by, he brought something, whether it was a pack of crackers or a new book.

He brought big ones too, ones with yellowed pages and musty aromas of fine and settled dust, like Jane Eyre, War and Peace, Don Quixote, well-known classics that Aika had never heard of.

Aika grew to enjoy Kuroro Lucifer's company, if for no other reason than the fact that he brought entertainment, a makeshift pillow, and a compacted alternate universe, all simultaneously (those goddamn books though) along with him. He was intelligent, and lo and behold, intelligence was a trait Aika really seemed to enjoy as well; perhaps because she was naturally inquisitive and intelligent too, in spite of the fact that she had received no proper education. Then again, neither had he.

Kuroro is normally the kind of guy that Aika would usually really dislike. He was a perfectionist, someone who did everything he did with an unmistakable passion, a fire.

Aika wonders what it would be like to do something with as much passion as him, and she vaguely realizes that one day, she hopes to be every bit as in love with being alive as he is.

**END**

* * *

"_What makes us the most normal is knowing that we're not normal."  
-Haruki Murakami,Norwegian Wood_

* * *

**A/N: Hey, thanks for reading guys. Sorry, the ending was rushed and didn't make any sense; it's 2:13 am and I'm really sorry I haven't updated in awhile I'm just banging things out on my keyboard.**

**Please review, this stuff makes my entire life!**

**Thanks!**


	4. Liquidation

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 4: Liquidation**

* * *

"_Failing is no excuse for giving up."  
-Naruto Uzumaki (Naruto)_

* * *

The day afterwards, Aika is flipping through the pages in her book and waiting upon the Leader of the Phantom Troupe to make his appearance; she knows the book is interesting, can tell by the way the pages are set and the spine is bound, but her nerves are wound up too tight for her to tunnel her focus on the tiny words.

"You'll ruin your eyesight that way," comes the same disgustingly smooth voice from yesterday, and surprisingly, it does not scare the living daylights out of the fifteen-year-old.

She shrugs, closes the book, and lifts her head to meet her guest.

He looks the same as the day before, save for his attire, which has been swapped in favor of a loose-fitting t-shirt and darkly colored pants. It's so casual that Aika feels the irresistible need to look away.

The chessboard has already been set, and Kuroro volunteers, saying that he'll take white, but Aika frowns.

"He played with the white pieces last time." She comments.

Kuroro almost says that he's not Mike, almost, but decides against it and simply nods as he sits down one leg in front of him, the other propped up to his side so his arm can rest on it.

He wonders if this is the teenager's definition of hospitality, letting him go first, but he doesn't really need it because he'll crush her regardless.

"Check," Kuroro says after an entire eight minutes have passed, and for once Aika knows that there is no way to delay the inevitable.

She deliberately moves her king into an open area.

"You realize that's an illegal move?" He questions, expression as impassive as ever.

She looks at him, and he realizes that her gaze is almost as chilling as Machi's when she wants it to be. "What's so wrong about knowing that you've lost?" She says with the strangest tone of voice.

Kuroro doesn't need to think very hard to realize she's taunting him by alluding to Mike's death, but he nonetheless ponders this for several seconds, and then moves deftly to reset the chessboard. "Isn't that just the same as giving up?" He questions.

Kuroro Lucifer is not sure why he agreed to play chess with a fifteen-year-old naïve female but he did, and strangely enough, he is not regretting it as much as he thought he would.

"True wisdom is knowing what you know and don't know." She shrugs, moving to help him. "Sometimes you give up because you just quit. But sometimes you just know that struggling won't help."

The Leader isn't sure whether it's comical or shocking that a street rat is lecturing him about knowing his limits. She's fascinating, he realizes as he watches her make the first move, especially for her age.

"Pawn to C3." She says, and two seconds later she slaps both hands over her mouth as if she's done something terrible and unforgivable.

He doesn't react to her mortification instead he moves his own. "Pawn to D5. " He answers, and all of a sudden he's aware that she's crying.

The Leader of the Geneiryodan definitely knows how to incapacitate a grown man in under a second but he does not know how to handle a crying teenage girl so he does the only thing he can think of and says, "Why are you crying?"

Her shoulders are shaking but she answers the best she can with a broken "I don't know," an obvious lie, and moves her rook.

That night is the first time Aika manages to check him, -not checkmate, he still takes the match, but the stumble comes as a shock to him nonetheless- and Kuroro isn't sure if he should or shouldn't blame his lack of concentration on the fact that he was shaken by an emotionally unstable girl because that would be admitting a lack of discipline either way.

They play four games that night, and Kuroro takes all of them, of course. Kuroro sighs, looking up at the starry sky of Meteor City. Maybe it wasn't such a bad decision.

* * *

"_Life is fair because it's unfair to everybody."  
-Unknkown_

* * *

**TWO YEARS LATER.**

She's seventeen by the time she has discovered her actual powers, seventeen years too old and too exhausted. Their chess matches take longer now and she can read faster. Her long and once-highlighted brunette hair is now a mid-length orange; she had dyed it three months prior when she realized that change was not such a terrible thing after all.

"Check." He says, hand covering his chin as he ruminates, eyes focused and depthless.

Two moves later the same word leaves her mouth and so the pattern continues, six or seven times before Kuroro Lucifer has the unadulterated but somehow unsatisfying joy of saying "checkmate" and Aika throws her hands her hands up in exasperation, the well-known and eternal scowl etched into her features.

Kuroro only smiles and begins to put away the pieces. It is one in the morning, but recently, the Leader has discovered that losing an hour or two of sleep is a small price to pay for the quality of the female's company.

The invincible Leader of the Phantom Troupe is not really sure how the hell he managed to wind up spending the majority of his day frolicking around with an adolescent teenager- a very _angsty_ one at that- but then he reminds himself that it is entirely his own fault for not chopping off his goddamn arm that goddamn day. In a sense, he isn't _entirely_ indebted to her, so he wonders why he's agreed to doing this to begin with.

She's become more definable now, he understands, more predictable, more… patterned.

Her voice is bitingly sarcastic more often than not and smiles are rarely, if ever given. He's finally figured out the color of her goddamn eyes that she has always pointed away, covered with her hair –a shining hazel, for the record- and Aika never seems to undo her expression of concentration, of dissatisfaction.

She has trouble experiencing things, _feeling _things, though he's hardly one to talk because it wasn't as if he wasn't morally compromised, being the head of the lovely Phantom Brigade –which has, by the way, gained an unseemly, but awe-inspiring reputation for being comprised solely of heartless monsters.

"What are you thinking about?" She asks, casting him a suspecting look, arms crossed as she is sitting on the ground. And yes, it is still dusty, and Meteor City is still a rotting junkyard comprised of rotten people.

"My complete and magnificent triumph."

Sarcasm, Kuroro has found, is the best way to deal with Aika. The knots in her demeanor loosen, albeit minutely, and it is easier to get her to converse with him.

The two have gotten to know each other well, though neither will admit to it. Aika silently brooding, admiring the almost-clairvoyance Kuroro has, while Kuroro makes a valiant attempt to unravel the ridiculous enigma of Aika-

"I've never asked you, have I?" He realizes, eyes going wide for a fraction of a moment.

"Asked me what?" She snorts.

"Your last name."

Her laugh is louder this time, more drawn out, and it is infinitely more bitter. "I don't have one." She shrugs.

Kuroro blinks, exhaling and looking to the side. Of course; she was an orphan.

He wonders vaguely if an apology is necessitated, but she answers him before he can reach an answer.

"Don't bother." She yawns, clearing the hair out of her face. "It's like one in the morning, so go to bed."

Kuroro is currently twenty-one and feels incredibly foolish getting lectured by someone four years his junior; she seems to do that a lot. He gets up gracefully, sighing and watching his breath materialize in the cold air enveloping him.

"Good night Aika."

He hears more than sees her eyes rolling, as they always do whenever her calls her by name. Kuroro isn't sure why –yet- but he knows that she detests the name for whatever reason, and intends to figure it out.

She scoffs again, and before she can respond, he's gone.

The winter in Meteor City is hardly a winter; there's never any snow or even frost for that matter, but the temperature does have a tendency to drop, and so, on the coldest of nights, people can see their breaths in the chill air.

The cold front lasts only several days but it's soothing, especially in comparison to the blazing summer days in the town. Slowly, calmly, it lulls Aika to sleep, and within a matter of seconds, she's asleep sitting up, having forgotten to put the chessboard away.

* * *

"_True evil is becoming apathetic about other people."  
\- Akiyama Shinichi (Liar Game)_

* * *

The world is blurry for approximately six seconds and then it is blaringly clear because Kuroro Lucifer is all of three inches away from her face, bending over with his hands in his pockets.

"Doesn't your back hurt if you sleep sitting up?"

"Fuck you!" is the only response he gets as she falls over to the side, scrambling to distance herself. Her face is flushed red and she had almost kicked over yesterday's haphazardly placed chessboard in her scramble to get away. "Why are you even here, dumb Dancho!" She hisses.

He only shrugs and straightens up. "I just thought I should warn you."

"Eh?" She answers stupidly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"There are Mafiosos looking for you." He says deadpan, as if that's no big deal at all.

She's tempted to curse at him again but this time's she's scrambling to get to her feet. "Is it about Mike?" Her expression is pained, and she assumes that the only connection she has had with the Mafia has been exposed.

He stares at her, blinks, and quietly says, "I don't know."

As if on cue, a group of four men clad in suits run by the alley, obviously not making too much of an effort to stay inconspicuous.

It's still dark and the sun hasn't woken up yet. Aika backs up into her alley, thinking about what she should do.

"They have guns," he comments, advice thrown in for free. "Be careful."

She stares at him for a while, and Kuroro can see the question in her eyes. _Are you leaving?_

He turns his own gaze toward the main street where there are several more Mafia men sprinting about.

"I owe you anyways." He murmurs, almost too softly for her to hear.

She finds she can finally breathe again, and she's suddenly too aware of the cold air. "What do I do?" She voices her concern aloud.

"I can get Paku or Feitan to find out why they're looking for you."

The idea of cooperating with the Phantom Troupe, especially the creepy Chinese one, immediately repulses her and Aika is second-guessing staying with Kuroro; but the teen knows that anything she could come up with would pale in comparison to what the Spiders could do.

She looks to her hands and wishes that her power didn't leave room for so many damn openings.

Aika realizes that the man she's dealing with right now is no longer the Kuroro Lucifer she plays chess with but the Leader of the Phantom Troupe. He flips open her phone and dials a number Aika can't see because of the darkness.

"Mm, Paku?" He says, but then he pauses. "What? And the Mafia didn't tell us about this, _why_? And the girl. Okay. Alright." Kuroro runs his hand through his hair and looks toward her again. "Did you know that you're the daughter of two very renowned scientists who dabbled in Mafia affairs?"

Aika thinks it's slightly unfair, bombarding her with all of this information in such a condensed amount of time, especially something about her parents, whom, for the record, she never met. Her back hits the alley wall and she clears her throat, swallowing hard. "No, I did not know that," is all she can really manage at the moment.

She's terrified out of her mind and Kuroro's trying to talk to her about her childhood.

"The Mafia are carrying out a clean-up." He explains.

"What-" Aika begins, but before he can finish her question, an explosion reverberates throughout the air and the screams of the denizens of Meteor City begin to pierce the air. "Wow," is what she ends with. "A cleansing?"

"Virtually." He answers.

_So this is the Geneiryodan_, Aika thinks, and she looks away both in awe and disgust, _a group that doesn't bat an eye at mass murder. _

"We're meeting up with Pakunoda and the rest of the Troupe." He begins to make his way out the alley. "Can you keep up?"

"I sure as hell can try." She puts on a brave face.

Soon they are speeding through the air, evading burning buildings and debris.

The orphans of Meteor City were well-known and rightly disliked for their enhanced dexterity and agility; if you couldn't steal from street vendors, you starved to death, and the rules were as simple as that. No one would come to save you; everyone was too busy trying to save themselves. Aika finds that keeping up with Kuroro is not as difficult as she anticipated.

A group of five is already waiting at the junkyard when they arrive.

Feitan bristles at the sight of the girl, but is soon placated by a stern look from Kuroro, and he relents with a "tch."

"What I can piece together is that this girl and the clean-up that's going on have something to do with each other." Pakunoda speaks first, crossing her arms.

"Why is the Mafia doing this?" Aika asks, a perpetual frown settling upon her face. Fires had begun to break out over the city and echoes of gunfire were heard as the Mafia mowed down citizens.

"Meteor City is used to do the Mafia's dirty work." Machi is the one who answers nonchalantly. "Every once in awhile, the city needs to be purged, both to keep the element of fear alive and to guard their secrets."

Aika is torn between declaring that their methods are terrible or just terribly inefficient.

"Why are we involving ourselves in this?" Nobunaga asks, yawning, scratching behind his head. "It's not our business if people die."

"No, it's not." Kuroro agrees, expression set in impassion, "but they are after this one," he gestures to Aika with a nod of his head, "and I owe her for something."

"Where's Uvo?" Nobunaga asks.

"Probably sleeping. You know how he is." Franklin answers. "What's our mission, boss?"

Kuroro considers this. The Troupe had a tendency to be awfully think-skulled, so his word choice was important. "Prioritize her safety." He decided. "And eliminate the shooters." The Leader made a valiant attempt to ignore Feitan's murderous aura.

"Paku and Franklin, stay with me." He decides. "The rest of you," he breathes in deeply, closing his eyes. "Disperse."

They are gone faster than the wind, and Aika is left temporarily stunned. She looks toward him and is unsure whether she needs to thank him or apologize first, but he subtly shakes his head side to side, signaling her to stay as she is.

"Dancho," Pakunoda asks, a suspecting gleam in her eye. "I got some intel."

"Let's hear it then."

"Mr. and Mrs. Brehznev, her parents," she nods toward Aika, " were apparently working on a human experiment at the time of their deaths. The test subject disappeared and apparently, is still missing."

Kuroro almost grimaces, almost as he pieces together the missing pieces of the puzzle, but he doesn't because he's in front of his Troupe members. Yes he's inhumane, but his level is sadism doesn't even come close to rivaling his morals, or lack thereof. What kinds of parents use their own child as a subject for experimentation?

Judging from the mortification on Aika's face, he's certain she's pieced the puzzle together as well. "Tsk," she looks down, doing _the goddamn thing with her bangs_.

"If they were carrying out an experiment like that," the gears in Kuroro's mind begin to turn, "they would want the support of a powerful group, right? Isn't that how this stuff works?"

"The Mafia sponsored them." Paku says, deadpan.

Aika is sure that if it wasn't her own life being laid out on a Petri dish for all to see, she would have found the situation comical.

"Something must have happened." Franklin comments.

"Human experimentation is a dangerous realm to dabble in." Kuroro points out. "It never turns out the way it's supposed to."

"So why are they picking up on this seventeen years late?" Aika points out bitterly.

"The Mafia has been preoccupied with more pressing matters as of late."

"_More pressing matters,_ I'm sure." She scoffs.

Pakunoda clears her throat, standing pointedly –_how _Aika isn't sure, but she is- with her arms crossed. "I wasn't finished." When met with silence, she continued. "They're looking for her because she can't get caught in the clean-up."

"Well _why not_?" The orange-head says angrily, half-considering voluntarily throwing herself into a Mafiosos line of fire to get the damn thing over with.

"You're a biological weapon." Pakunoda turns her gaze toward Aika, staring her down. "And the Mafia intends to utilize you the best they can."

"Hmm," Kuroro considers this, raking his gaze over the adolescent in front of him. Her power was certainly one he had never come across before, though it did have its drawbacks. Being able to take the life energy of any living thing did guarantee an almost unlimited supply of stamina after all. "For now, we're going to make noise," he decides. "Let's get rid of them."

Closing her eyes and clenching her teeth, Aika took several deep breaths in and out. "Okay fine," she says with an infinite amount of sass. "Okay."

Three minutes later there are four more figures running along the fire-illuminated streets of Meteor City.

**END**

* * *

"_The life of each human is worth one life, that's it. Nothing more, nothing less."  
\- King Bradley_

* * *

**A/N: Well, I'm sorry this chapter took me awhile, I was having trouble putting my plans paper. Thanks for being patient! For some reason, my brain wouldn't let me write in anything but present tense, so tell me if you prefer this style or the previous! I hope you enjoyed! Do drop a review ^.^**


	5. Our Survival of the Fittest

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 5: Our Survival of the Fittest**

* * *

"_Time flows constantly; it doesn't care about the people who are struggling."  
\- Unknown_

* * *

"Why are you doing this?" Screams erupted from the citizens of Ryuuseigai, angry and desperate. "There are children here!"

Three hundred feet away, Aika pointedly kept her gaze averted from the scene unfolding before her. Instead she tried to zero in on the form of Kuroro's speeding figure and attempted to match pace with him.

"Is this your first time seeing bloodshed?" Franklin asked, voice kinder than Aika would have anticipated for a member of the Phantom Brigade.

"Second." She chuckled bitterly. "It's the second time."

Kuroro made no indication of having been provoked. Aika cleared her throat and quieted herself.

"Hey!" A rough voice accompanied the sound of footsteps behind them. "What are you-"

The earth-shattering sound of gunshot so nearby cut the blissfully ignorant Mafioso off as it found it's pathway through the center of his forehead, leaving a bloody and gaping trail in its wake. Pakunoda put away her gun.

Aika almost stated that that scale of ruthlessness was not necessitated, but as she was not yet entirely sure of who –or _what_\- she was dealing with, she yielded to her nearly nonexistent rational side, opting to simply grit her teeth and continue running.

"There's a lot of them running around."

"Then we just need to get rid of them." Pakunoda said matter-of-factly.

"Are we going to meet up with the others?" She asked, making sure her voice was kept at a quiet level.

Kuroro shot a glance over his shoulder toward her. "Spiders work alone. And we don't interfere in one another's fight. It's almost doctrine."

"Shouldn't we split up then?" She asked.

Kuroro looked toward Pakunoda and Franklin who nodded once before they moved to spread out and find more poor unfortunate souls to filch.

"Are you sure you want to stick with me?" The Leader asked quietly, beginning to slow his pace. Aika gratefully thanked the gods.

"I don't see any other alternative."

"Our methods are unsightly."

"As the woman just generously demonstrated for me a few minutes ago," she responded pointedly.

Kuroro opened his mouth to reply back but a nearby scene drew his attention. A young girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen was pressed up against the face of building, clutching a book, obviously frightened to death of the Mafioso currently looming over her.

"It won't even hurt little gi-"

Aika didn't even hear the rest of the sentence, body moving of its own accord. Kuroro tsked and rushed in after her.

"NO!" Screamed the adolescent, shutting her eyes and falling to the floor to curl up into a ball.

For someone who had yet to discover the wonderful and slightly disorienting properties of nen, Kuroro figured that Aika moved relatively quickly.

_She has the brunt of her strength in her legs,_ Kuroro realized dimly as he saw her drop-kick the man. His body hit the floor hard and flat and air escaped his lungs with an audible choking sound.

The Leader of the Geneiryodan had fully intended her to rush toward the girl and leave him to incapacitate the man but she viciously kicked the Mafioso in the stomach one more time and proceeded _to sit on him_. Had the situation differed, Kuroro was sure he would have difficultly restraining laughter.

"Get going little girl." Aika said, voice positively dripping with malice. She didn't need to be told twice and the adolescent stumbled over her feet twice in her hurry to scramble away. Kuroro watched Aika curiously.

Her left hand roughly shoved the man's face into the dirt, and a low groan came from the figure beneath her.

"What were you gonna do to that girl huh?" Aika hissed in his ear.

Kuroro narrowed his eyes and observed.

"Can't do what you want if two-thirds of your dick has already been shoved into your personality though, am I right?"

She slammed his face into the ground again and all of a sudden he stopped squirming. A full minute later Aika stood up with a handful of his hair, letting it drop and wisp to the ground.

"Did you do the thing?" Kuroro stepped beside her.

"Yes I did the thing," Aika replied as she hissed again. _The thing_, the innate power to suck life energy from living things.

Interesting events had transpired during the course of the past two years. Aika had found that she was always very acute of Kuroro Lucifer's emotions, which was unsettling to say the least because the goddamn man never felt anything deeply. Perhaps a touch of humor, curiosity, and then blank. She figured it was because she had a part of him running around her body since she had taken part of his own life energy to spare him the pain and blood loss of cutting off a poisoned forearm.

So right know she understood that he was feeling quite bewildered.

She also realized that whenever she saw children, something brittle inside of her broke; it bent and twisted and snapped, splintered cruelly.

"Was he good or bad?" Kuroro inquired.

"I'm not a vampire or something!" She snapped, getting up, gritting her teeth. "I wish I had stopped a few more." She added more quietly. "I wish I could have killed a few more."

"All in good time." A samurai came walking up behind her; Nobunaga. "But for now, we've basically taken care of the job."

Aika's knees just gave out on her, buckled and failed to support her weight. She slowly slid to the ground and closed her eyes, tired and confused. That was so _fast._ How quickly did they work?

The sun was beginning to rise.

Rubicund blood dyed Meteor City Red.

Several moments later, the very last gunshot was heard.

* * *

"_You cannot lose humanity if it is already lost."  
\- Ryougi Shiki (The Garden of Sinners)_

* * *

"Aika Brehznev." She tasted the feel of the name on her tongue and cringed. "Ew."

"It's a sophisticated sounding name." Kuroro said, tone consoling. "Your mother was Japanese and your father was Russian. That your first and last name don't fit together perfectly is understandable."

"I don't like it." She said bluntly, frowning. "I'll just be Aika from now on."

Nobunaga laughed heartily, setting his sword down beside him. "Dancho, I like this one." He said good-naturedly.

Aika wasn't too sure what she had been expecting from the Phantom Troupe but it certainly was not this. They were all _people_ –which was definitely a shocker- with feelings and lives and terrible senses of humor.

"It's alright kid. None of us have last names except for the Boss." The samurai pointed out.

She almost asked why it mattered at all that they had anything in common. She disliked half of them anyways.

"Your first kill?" Macchi asked, arms crossed and expression neutral, as always.

"Unfortunately." Aika answered, "though I prefer not to think of it that way. I was just helping a little kid out."

Kuroro subtly cleared his throat but the effect was instantaneous. All the members and even Aika herself brought their attention to him.

"Status?" He asked smoothly.

"I took down eleven." Nobunaga reported. "I think."

Pakunoda brushed her fingers through her hair. "Eight."

"Fourteen." Feitan hissed.

"I don't remember." Franklin answered honestly.

Macchi simply shrugged as well.

"They're either dead, gone, or hiding." Paku started. "Unfortunately, we've garnered the unadulterated animosity of an entire faction in the Mafia. We should expect the worst."

"True." Kuroro nodded.

"Uvo was drunk as hell last night so he's hungover right now." Nobunaga noted.

The Leader frowned. The large man had quite the tolerance for alcohol. Exactly how much had he drunk to be unable to engage in one of his favorite hobbies?

"Kuroro," Aika called out, seeking his attention.

Other Troupe members' eyes narrowed at such a casual approach, but he didn't seem to mind. "Hmm?" He answered.

"Let me join." She crossed her arms. "Let me join the Troupe."

She was met first with dead silence, and then eventually the rising laughter of Nobunaga.

Feitan's aura doubled in size and irritability. "Little girl, don't insult us." He hissed.

"I'm being serious," she insisted, taking a deep breath in and out.

"I thought you detested us." The Leader brought his hands to his mouth as he scrutinized her.

"I do." She answered frankly, awkwardly scratching the back of her head. "I do, but I think I dislike…" she paused, looking for the right words. "I think I dislike being unable to fend for myself more."

"We aren't going to train you." Kuroro pointed out.

"Experience is the best teacher anyways." She countered. "That alone should be enough."

Kuroro dwelled and entertained the idea for a solid thirty seconds before making this decision. "We're looking to fill our group anyways. You'll be the eighth member."

"Is this temporary?" Macchi blurted out, demeanor shattered.

He blinked at her once, twice, and sighed.

"You don't like me?" Aika asked, asking the question on Kuroro's behalf.

"You just said that you aren't able to fend for yourself." She said accusingly.

"That's why I'm looking to learn." The other female growled.

"We don't have room for-"

"For weaklings?" Aika cut her off, bristling. "I'm not weak; I'm inexperienced. Study a bit more why don't you, instead of severing heads and whatnot."

"Oi, oi," Franklin butted in, separating the felines. "No fighting between members."

Macchi glared at him. _Traitor_.

"When we have a dispute-"

"We flip a coin." She growled. "Heads," Macchi hissed, diverting her gaze.

Franklin flicked a zenny and caught it in his hand, placing it on the back of his hand.

"Tails." Aika shrugged.

Slowly removing his massive hand, Franklin declared "tails," before putting the coin away.

"And that's that," Pakunoda finished. "But Macchi's right you know. We won't baby you."

"I won't ask you to." Aika crossed her arms, huffing.

"Well, you're all dismissed." Kuroro sighed, tired.

After the other five had gone, Aika stood with her back to him, debating.

"Does this mean that the chess-" She started.

"Ten o' clock tonight." Kuroro cut her off. "You're dismissed as well."

Smiling, Aika made her way out of the junkyard.

Didn't look back.

* * *

"_Because if the king falls, this game is over."  
\- Sebastian Michaelis (Kuroshitsuji)_

* * *

"Can I ask you something?"

Kuroro had taken all of three steps into the alleyway to arrive for their nightly game of chess before the girl threw a question at him.

"I'm not sure about you but where I come from a 'hello how are you' is customary before jumping to idle chatter." He sighed, hands in his pockets; as usual.

"Hello, I'm great." Aika scoffed. "Can I ask you a question?"

Kuroro crossed his arms. "You just did."

The orange-haired teen bit back a 'fuck you' and glared at him.

Sighing, Kuroro sat down in front of her, undoing his crossed arms and motioning for her to ask whatever was so important.

Given his undivided attention, Aika realized she had no idea how to phrase the question; it was awkward and undesirable to remember. Swallowing once, she cast a sideways glance at him before asking: "Can you tell me more about Mike?"

Kuroro blinked, as he so often did, before processing the question. "Why?"

Groaning, Aika readjusted her posture to a more comfortable position and pulled herself up to the chess board. "I figured you'd ask why." She paused for a moment. "I guess, if I want to get stronger, I should try to strengthen myself in everything, not just raw power. Including mentality I suppose." The girl scratched the back of her head. "What the heck, it sounded so much better in my head."

Kuroro laughed once and quickly proceeded to cover it up with a clearing of his throat. He had recently become aware of how being around the girl influenced his persona, or perhaps, lack thereof.

"I understand what you mean, I think." He also pulled himself up to the board. "Okay, I'll tell you everything I know." He moved his pawn. "Pawn to C6."

"I'm listening. Pawn to D6."

Aika soon found that Mike was not all that great of a guy.

"Mike Alabaster was one of sixteen caporegimes in the Mafia Family. He had fifty men under his control and was personally responsible for twenty-six murders; and those are only the ones the police could find evidence for."

She also found that Kuroro's capability to constantly improve was limitless, especially in their little game of chess.

"He had a wife whom he treasured very much, or that's how the story goes, and his own faction often made fun of him; endearingly of course." Kuroro rolled his eyes, a rare sight. "He trusted her more than his own faction members-" He suddenly cut himself off. "I forgot to mention, she was also in the Mafia as another caporegime."

Aika did a double-take.

Kuroro looked at her curiously. "Was it that shocking? I seem to remember having told you this at our first meeting."

"I- I just," she spluttered. "I just wasn't expecting her to have, I mean, I just forgot,." She composed herself. "Continue?" She asked, moving her rook, taking a knight.

"He trusted his wife deeply, and for good reason too. They were both mid-twentyish at the height of their Mafia careers and so the two were very close, especially since they could sympathize with the work the other was doing." He sighed. "One day two other caporegimes decided to raid another family's headquarters. Along with them and their underdogs, roughly 120 men were dispatched."

Aika narrowed her eyes as her own knight was taken.

"One caporegime escaped. The only twenty-two live remaining Mafia men were all imprisoned. Everyone else was killed."

She sighed, biting the inside of her lip. "Must have been some massacre."

"It was." He agreed. "But Mike and his wife were accused with the raid. The police needed someone to blame and since the two main perps were either dead or gone, they chose them, since their statuses were the same."

Kuroro's queen traveled all the way across the board to check her king.

"The Code of Honor states that you remain silent to others' crimes; you don't snitch and you don't rat each other out, even if it means taking their sentence for them. This doctrine of Omerta has made the camaraderie among Mafiosos notorious and envied."

Chuckling, Aika took his queen with her king.

"And Mike's wife broke that code. She sold out the escaped Mafioso and revealed where she knew he would be hiding. He was captured and given two-hundred and sixty years in prison for the deaths of almost one hundred people. In return Mike and his wife were set free. Of course, however, rats were punished by death and nothing less at the time, so Mike was ordered to kill his own wife."

Kuroro's rook which had been lying inconspicuously in wait also traveled across the board to make it checkmate in a record time of seven and a half minutes.

"Fuck!" She hissed. "Go on."

"So he did." He shrugged. "A week later he tried to commit suicide by pouring gas on himself and setting himself on fire but unfortunately he was saved by his neighbors."

"And that explains his face." Aika murmured. "How depressing."

"Three months later the Mafia did the same thing, tried to imprison him for something he didn't do. This particular fiasco wasn't documented in great detail, probably because it contained classified information. This time, Mike himself broke the Code of Silence and proved himself innocent. After garnering the hatred of the Mafia, he broke away along with fifteen or so others who shared his ideals and fled here to Meteor City."

"Ryuuseigai really is a dumping ground for the undesirables…" Aika sighed. "Is that everything?"

"Everything I know." He replied.

"Do you always research your targets so extensively before ruthlessly murdering them?"

He shot her a look. "For the record, most of my kills are painless."

"How would you know?" She shot back.

"Science."

She hmphed.

"But no, I usually don't. This information was all intel that the Mafia voluntarily gave to us to justify the necessity of their deaths. As laden with crime as they are, the Mafia still have moral standards."

Aika began to clean up the chess board. "The Phantom Troupe is a paid mercenary group, is it?" She inquired.

"For now, yes it is." Kuroro answered. "That will probably be changing in the near future."

"Why?"

"We made this group because we are all outcasts of a different breed. Not outcasts in the sense that nobody talks to us –which is true as well, unfortunately- but in the sense that nobody can understand us."

"I'm not sure I follow." She tilted her head to the side.

"Nobunaga has a peculiar sense of humor but there's nothing that his sword can't cut. Pakunoda has the ability to extract information by touch and share intel by gun. Macchi suturing skills are unheard of, so she doubles as a healer –though she charges far too much- and as a long distance fighter. Franklin can shoot bullets from his _hands_. Uvogin is just-"

"So in short you're all fucking weird." Aika shuddered.

"You could think of it that way, yes. But we're probably going to break away from the Mafia and become bandits soon. There are too many limitations to being a mercenary group. None of us like having to kiss up to Mafia men."

Aika put the chess board away. "What's your ability?"

Kuroro thought about this for a moment. "You'll find out eventually"

She huffed again. "Do I call you Dancho or Kuroro?"

"Just Kuroro is fine but around the rest of them, Dancho would be better if you hope to gain their favor." He stood up. The time was nearing two in the morning.

"Why did you let me join?"

"Why so many questions little girl?" He smirked.

"I'm like two years younger than you." She glared at him. "And because I'm curious."

"That's an interesting question. Why did I let you join?" He asked himself softly, eyes bright and searching. "I suppose I think I'm a good judge of character. Though the Troupe doesn't quite match your demeanor, you can benefit it."

"I'm not sure what I was thinking." She admitted quietly.

"Your legs are naturally built from the amount of running you used to do as child. I would take advantage of that." He said thoughtfully, ignoring her. "You are spurred to fight when there's something to protect. That usually does yield a better power output, but it does mean that your usual level of fighting is much lower when there's nothing to guard."

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"It's helpful advice from what I figure out about you. Your loss if you don't take it to heart." He shrugged.

"Can you put it in language I can understand?"

"Unlike us, you can only fight if you have a specific motive that is heavier than your dislike of killing." He crossed his arms. "Better?"

_It's true_, Aika realized.

"And your power is more defensive and not too handy for fighting. Finding something offensive is in your best interests."

Aika understood that there was a reason all these sociopathic murderers were following someone as strange as Kuroro. He was intelligent, ridiculously so; insightful, perceptive, and he knew how to make parts work and churn together. He possessed a frightful type of charisma, and a level-headedness that she envied.

"I know I'm great but staring is rude Mrs. Brehznev."

"Aika!" She snapped back. "My name is Aika!" And then she flushed.

"It means love song." Kuroro said softly.

"It translates to dirge." She answered stubbornly, face red.

"What am I to do with you." He sighed. "We have a meeting in three days time at the junkyard. Just a heads up."

Kuroro Lucifer turned around swiftly and began to make his way out of the alley. In three more hours the sun would wake and the day would begin again.

**END**

* * *

"_Our names are given to us by God. I have betrayed God, and so, I no longer have a name."  
\- Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist)_

* * *

**A/N: What do you guys make of my updating speed? I'm try as hard as I can ^.^ So I've been getting a lot of favorites and follows, but please drop some reviews. :/ I'm not really sure what you guys make of my work if you don't!**

**Also, I'm back to past tense. Did you guys like the present tense more, or this more? Like I said, read and review! Thanks for your time!**


	6. These Clothes Don't Fit Us Right

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 6: These Clothes Don't Fit Us**

* * *

"_Reality is relative. In the same way, so is insanity."  
-Me_

* * *

The next three days passed without incident. Kuroro trampled her in chess as he usually did. Meteor City still sucked, sucked even more now that the air was thick with ash and misery. A total of seventy-six deaths had been counted, added to the tremendous number of casualties. Plenty of people were still missing.

"A mission?" Nobunaga asked, crossing his legs.

The Spiders had decided to meet again at their junkyard in order to decide what to do next.

"I thought the Mafia hated us now?"

"The Mafia is rash but they aren't idiotic." Kuroro began to explain. Almost every member present shot Kuroro a doubtful look. "Maybe so, but only slightly." He relented. "They're well aware of the fact that we're necessary to them as an ally."

It was true. The Mafia wouldn't last a week with the Phantom Troupe as its enemy.

"They've given us a mission to see if we can prove our loyalty."

Nobunaga snorted. "Who do these people think they are?"

Kuroro paid him no attention. "It's not very appealing to me," he admitted. "so I'm allowing the group to decide."

"Do we have a time limit?" Pakunoda asked.

"Let's do it!" Uvogin roared.

"Uvo, we should hear him out first." The samurai warned.

"There is no time limit; however, they want our answer within three days." The Leader answered.

"What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, Kuroro answered: "They've asked for the annihilation of the Kuruta Clan."

Aika narrowed her eyes immediately; the word 'annihilation' just gave her bad vibes.

"Kuruta Clan?" She questioned. The teenager ignored the resting gazes of the rest of Troupe on her.

Kuroro inhaled deeply and began to explain. "From the information they've given me, I can deduce that they're skilled in fighting with swords-" Nobunaga whooped loudly, "and that their eyes are incredibly valuable, especially when sold on the Black Market." Macchi nodded once, giving her consent.

"They're a clan that is known to by very peaceable and highly honorable. Family and friends are very important to them."

"I'm in." Uvo grinned.

"Why are their eyes so valuable?" Pakunoda questioned.

"Apparently they change color when enraged or when they feel emotional." Kuroro answered, eyes closed and head down, as if exasperated. "If their eyes are harvested while in their reddened state, the color does not fade and is regarded as one of the world's seven wonders."

Feitan whistled. "Sounds fun."

Aika was fuming. Those people had lives and children and dreams, dreams she didn't want to impede on.

Suddenly, she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She started, recognizing Franklin looking at her with a strange look in his eye. "This is the Phantom Troupe, and if you can't stomach it, I suggest you leave as soon as you can."

There was no malice in his tone, only genuine honesty and perhaps a bit of concern.

She sighed. "I'm fine, but thank you. Really." She answered.

"We need one more member's consent to accept the mission." Kuroro prompted.

"I'm for it." Franklin spoke up. "For now, staying under the protection of the Mafia makes us a powerful force."

"Then it's decided. I'll tell them that we're accepting."

"When will we actually be going on the mission?" Aika questioned.

"That can be decided at a later time." The Leader stood up, and nodded once. "The meeting's over."

Everyone began to get up and make their way away from the junkyard at their own leisurely pace.

"Aika." Kuroro spoke up.

"Yes?" She replied immediately.

"Two years ago," she winced, remembering the time, "why weren't you poisoned when you…" he searched for the proper wording as he so often did, "used your power on my arm?"

"Poison has never affected me for as long as I can remember." She shrugged. "I mean, I can tell it doesn't belong in my body; it's uncomfortable but it can't kill me."

"Your pain tolerance must be something." He remarked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary." She looked away, frowning. "Don't compliment me, it doesn't suit you."

"Your pain tolerance sucks." He deadpanned, crossing his arms.

"Don't do that either, it still doesn't suit you."

"Do tell then, what suits me?" He smirked.

"I'm not sure but it's something along the lines of a mightier-than-thou attitude and too much late night reading." She hid her own smile.

He cleared his throat, which Aika noticed he had a tendency to do whenever he did something out of character. "I'll have you working with Feitan and Pakunoda."

She grimaced. Paku she could handle but the Chinese one…

"They're the information processors for right now. Both of them are interrogators, but if you ever get captured, we can trust you not to say anything you shouldn't."

"I just told you that my pain threshold isn't anything spec-" She began to object, but he cut her off.

"I can tell that it is," he sighed, turning away. "You just don't like bragging."

"How?" She demanded.

Kuroro looked up to the sky, the setting sun. "Feitan enjoys doing what he does, and he knows how to make things hurt." He paused, she rolled her eyes. "When he breaks bones, he does it in the most painful way. Sometimes he doesn't even realize he does it particular way, especially when he's fighting. He broke your arm the first time you guys met and you didn't make a sound."

"_Hardly_ anything special." She snorted. "Whatever." Aika hmphed and stood up. "Can we go play our chess match now?"

Kuroro looked confused. "What time is it?"

"The hell if I know." She gave him a look. "Does it really matter?"

He relented.

The two began to walk back toward her alley.

"Kuroro?" She questioned.

"Mm."

"I've always wondered. Where do you live?"

"I'm never short on money so I'm usually at one of the hotels. I like the one down the street from your alley. I keep them in business so they treat me kindly."

"What about the rest of them?"

"I've never found it necessary to dabble in their personal lives."

"I feel like I shouldn't go on this mission Kuroro." The words escaped her mouth in a storm, in a flurry of letters.

He stopped walking, blinking, and stared at her. "Why?"

Se swallowed once, looking confused. "One time, my friend took me to a field." Aika started. "You don't really find them here anymore, but ten years ago, Meteor City wasn't such a bad place." She cast him a look. "I'm sure you remember." She sighed. "Her name was beautiful."

Kuroro detected bitterness in her voice and he realized she was brooding over the meaning of her own.

They began walking again.

"Yukami means 'beautiful wood,' and so, she was obsessed with the vanities of nature. There was one flower field in particular that was so colorful. She showed me one day and we laid down in it, ran around. I sat down to take a break and wound up falling asleep. When I woke up, she was gone, and the entire portion of flowers around me, up to four or five feet away, were all dead, dried up."

"Nobunaga has trouble controlling his temper sometimes." Kuroro answered after a pause. "I'm sure you noticed that he's closer to Uvogin than the rest of us. When he gets angry he's not very good at distinguishing between his friends and his enemies, so he just slashes at everything. Uvo, on the other hand, has a lot of raw muscle. He can stop Nobunaga, so the two have gotten close to each other."

Met with her blank and confused stare, he elaborated. "My point is, you're not the only one who feels that you're not in control of your own actions. Don't think about it too much. All of us can tell when something's wrong with our bodies, even if we don't know what it is. You saw how Feitan pulled away as soon as you touched him."

"You're trying to reassure me by telling me that none of you are easy to kill?"

"That's the extent of my abilities." Kuroro shrugged.

"Well, just so you know, it's not working." She smirked. "But I appreciate the sentiment behind it."

"What sentiment." He almost snorted. Kuroro Lucifer wasn't someone capable of sentiment.

* * *

"_I am so shamed because I should be there, not here, and I have no idea how to start."  
-Unknown_

* * *

They decided to complete the mission at the end of the week. It would take two hours maximum with the entire Troupe, so there was no hurry, not for Kuroro.

It was strange. Aika had pictured them all running, had actually worried about it, but their leisurely pace seemed to undo something inside of her.

"Butterflies?" Franklin had asked, making small talk as the Troupe trudged down the wearied trail.

She nodded once and looked away quickly. Talking about butterflies in front of a group of mass murders was strange if not comical.

"Digest them." Machi had commented coldly.

If the pink-haired woman didn't make her fear for her life, Aika would have had said something crass back.

Kuroro actually walked behind the group, nose buried in a book as he followed along. Aika had long since realized that he was their leader in the sense that he was their binding force. All of these different people could somehow come together and get along through the magic that was Kuroro Lucifer. He was smart and strange but also very good at what he did.

"What are you reading?" She asked, falling into step beside him.

"They aren't being very hospitable to you?" He cut straight to the chase, never lifting his gaze form the text.

Aika rolled her eyes. "Machi's outright hostile. Nobunaga's bearable. The Chinese one wants to gut me and sell my organs on the Black Market, I can tell."

"And Franklin?"

"He pities me." She crossed her arms. "Charles Dickens?" Aika peeked a glance at the worn-out cover. "Never heard of him."

"You have now."

"That's your cue to _explain_."

"I'm _reading_."

"Of _course_ you are, I'm _so_ sorry I fall short in comparison to a stack of papers with ink splattered on them; which, I might add, are older than my grandparents." She shrugged.

"He was a terrible person who purposely elaborated to a sickening extent in order to get more money."

"Charles Dickens?"

"Hn."

"So, in other words, only people like you can understand what he's trying to say."

Kuroro chuckled, shutting the book and putting it away. "Alright, you win."

"Can I borrow it sometime?" She asked, putting a careful amount of distance between them.

"You wouldn't like it. He's too..." He paused. "He's too wordy."

"I can put up with you can't I?"

"I'm not from the 1800's, Aika."

"Boss," Pakunoda called out, bringing their attention back. "Is that the village?"

Kuroro's gaze shifted, snapped back to what it had been before. He looked up and inspected the sight before him.

It was a quaint village with humble shacks and an abundance of bookstores, no bars in sight. The road was dusty, but relatively well-kept, and Aika took in a deep breath.

The air was dry and it was sweltering, but it wasn't so different from Ryuuseigai, so it didn't bother her all that much.

"Yes, that's it."

"Will we be going in incognito first, or are we going all out?"

He seemed to think about it. "There's no need to do any scouting, so we won't be lounging around." He decided.

The group stopped walking and directed their gazes toward Kuroro.

"The Mafia wants their eyes. Don't kill them before their eyes change color. Children below the age of thirteen don't have the ability so you're free to do as you please with them. We'll harvest the eyes after it's done." He snuck a glance at Aika; she was controlling her temper surprisingly well. "Keep unnecessary bloodshed to a minimum. Disperse."

Upon his word, everyone gracefully and swiftly made their way to the center of the village. After a moment of much confusion from the native Kurutas who seemed alarmed to suddenly find such a different type of people in their square, Franklin, much to Aika's surprise, actually began to shoot bullet from his _fingers_, his _detachable_ fingers, what the _heck_. This seemed to signal the start of the massacre and Nobunaga, nimble and quick, had beheaded three corpses by the time the teen had blinked.

Screams erupted.

"There's no time for hesitation on the battlefield." Feitan hissed beside her. "Enjoy yourself and remember not to get killed." After a few short words of advice tossed in for free, he too sped away.

Enjoy herself? How was she supposed to do that?

She wasn't given much respite to answer because a presence immediately made itself known at her right. It was a middle-aged man, aged but experienced, with short blonde hair and steely blue eyes; he was charging at her with what seemed to be a blunted wooden sword.

Aika remembered Kuroro's warning, the purpose of the mission. _Don't kill them before their eyes change color._

But this man was old and well-tempered, and he seemed to understand what their goal was. His lips were set in a thin line as he swung a wooden sword at her.

"What do you intend to do with that?" She asked, and it was a genuine question. The best it could do was bruise her.

"We don't fight to kill." The male answered gruffly. "We have no reason to kill you; only defend ourselves."

_How honorable_, she thought sadly, side-stepping his swing. _But unfortunately, you can't win if you're always defending._

She ruminated as she dodged his attacks. Her power was not good for offensive use, as Kuroro had so intelligently pointed out several days ago. He had told her to make use of her legs because they had been strengthened from running around and such, but her speed had never been something she thought highly of.

The thought of killing the man made her sick.

"Do you have any children at home?" She asked, chest clenching painfully.

Aika had meant it in the most harmless way possible but apparently, the phrase had threatened him and contrary to what she thought about his levelheadedness, sapphire orbs suddenly morphed into a blazing scarlet.

His swings became faster and one grazed her shoulder. She winced as it made contact and quickly put some distance between them.

_So he does. I wonder how old they are_.

"Ottou-sama!" Someone's shrill voice cut through the air.

Her target whipped around, drawn to the sound of the call. "Kurapika, I told you to-"

It was all so _fast_, Aika barely had time to process what was going. Suddenly a loud sound pierced the air and the man in front of her crumpled to the ground.

Her eyes could barely keep up. It seemed Pakunoda had shot the Kuruta through his head and he had fallen without a sound, hitting the ground with a dull thump.

"Father!" The scream came again, louder.

Aika hastily and barely caught a gun that was thrown at her by the woman. "It's easy," Pakunoda stated as she fixed Aika with a look. "Pull the trigger. Finish off the kid." And then she was gone.

Aika wasn't sure if she wanted to thank Pakunoda or not. Now she didn't have an excuse for not killing anyone.

Slowly, she looked at the weapon and made her way over to the child, gun in hand, albeit her _trembling_, left hand.

Aika realized that the concept of time slowing down was definitely a fallacy because in times like these, time seemed to become faster, much faster, so quick that she found it difficult to simply stand on her own two feet.

Even when stealing bread back in Ryuuseigai, the chase had always been disorienting.

"Who are you people?!" The kid shrieked, angry and teary-eyed, hands balled up into fists. "Why are you doing this?!"

"We are the Phantom Troupe," Aika said slowly, testing how it tasted on her tongue –disgusting, you should know- raising the gun to his forehead. "and we're doing this because it's our mission."

He was perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age, still too young to have acquired the Kuruta's eyes.

_Children below the age of thirteen don't have the ability so you're free to do as you please with them._

She remembered his orders, and narrowed her eyes. She supposed that mean she should kill them regardless, without having to wait for their eyes to change color, but _technically_, she was free to do whatever she wanted.

"Kurapika." She said, remembering what his father had called him. "Go hide in one of the huts. Play dead if someone finds you."

The young blonde Kuruta's expression immediately straightened itself out, baffled confusion dominating his young features. Aika looked at his wide, unadulterated blue eyes and burned with envy.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He spat, fists clenching, form tensing.

She didn't blame him.

"Or I could put a bullet in your head right now, whichever you prefer." She forcefully slapped a cruel smirk on her face.

After a pause, he questioned shakily: "Why?"

"We can do whatever we want with children who don't have the Kuruta eyes yet." She answered.. "So no, I'm not going to kill you."

He looked at her angrily, suspiciously, tears still in his eyes. "Who are you?" Kurapika snapped roughly.

"I am the eighth Spider." She answered. "There's no need for you to know my name."

It was so sudden that Aika had to take a few steps back. Tears flowed freely from his eyes again and he shoved her roughly. Seconds later, he immediately started to run toward the huts she had mentioned before.

"You'll regret letting me go!" He shouted, hurriedly wiping away tears on his sleeve.

"Gee, I should make a list." She murmured, looking at the gun in her hands.

She finally began to take in her surroundings once Kurapika had entered the safety of a hut. Multiple fires had started and bodies littered the main road. The gut-wrenching smell of blood burned through the air. There was so much screaming.

So far she had managed to avoid killing anyone, but how long would that last? What would the rest of the Troupe say if they found out she had let a child live free?

Through the chaos, she somehow caught sight of Kuroro snapping someone's neck. They couldn't have been much older than him, but Kuroro finished within seconds, immediately dropping the body after finishing his business with it.

From behind him in his blind spot, a female Kuruta was creeping up, eyes a blazing Scarlet, dagger in hand. Whatever had happened to 'we have no reason to kill you'?

She fully expected him to whip around and incapacitate her but the Leader seemed to be unaware of the threat behind him, closing his eyes and using one hand to squeeze his temples. He was experiencing a headache.

Aika found herself moving without a second thought, legs carrying her fast than she would ever dared to have dreamed.

Her hands shot out and clasped onto the Kuruta's thin throat and it was over before Aika's consciousness returned to her because by then, the female's body was hanging limply and Kuroro had shot her an incredulous look.

"Uhm," he stuttered out, clearing his throat, taking a step away from her. "Thank you."

Aika herself found that she was having some trouble convincing herself to let go of the woman in her hands. Her fingers wouldn't move, her mind wouldn't process.

"I'm sorry," was all Aika could say, eventually prying her fingers open and fighting down the oncoming wave of bile in her throat.

Kuroro himself was both surprised with the girl and incredibly disappointed with himself. A mere headache would have been the death of him; unlike Aika, the other Troupe members would have simply watched, as per his previous orders and their agreements never to interfere in another's fight.

"What for?" He frowned, still experiencing difficulty understanding the alarming rate at which the girl seemed to improve.

"I didn't know what I was doing, it won't happen again." She said too quickly, hands clenched into fists now.

She was showing the telltale signs of guilt and horror, which could easily lead to some sort of mental trauma, which, needless to say, was not going help the Spider grow.

Why exactly was he allowing himself to slip so much around this one little girl with the most insolent attitude he had ever had the misfortune of stumbling upon? She had saved his life not once, but twice, and he found himself unable to maintain his leader-like presence whenever she was within a five-foot radius of him.

The immediate conclusion was reached. _She's dangerous, Kuroro._

Against his better judgment, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind, reminding himself that there was no one within the Troupe that wasn't.

Aika had the strange sensation that she was not in her own body at the moment. Listlessly, she knelt down beside the woman she had just drained and gouged out her eyes, frowning slightly at the warm and sticky sensation of blood that stained her fingertips.

"Here." She coldly offered the bloodied eyes to Kuroro, who took them quickly and put them in an opaque bag. He looked at her, expression disapproving. "Thank you, for getting my back." He said quietly, nonetheless.

She closed her eyes, flinging the thick blood off of her right hand. She vaguely realized that her jaw ached tremendously because she had been clenching it so hard for the past half hour.

"I'm going back first." She said, voice unsteady.

He didn't respond.

Aika didn't care as she stumbled away from the village.

* * *

"_Death no longer terrifies man; the smell of blood is as common as the smell of white plums."  
\- Hiko Seijuro (Rurouni Kenshin)_

* * *

"You should probably leave the Troupe."

Aika didn't respond, curled up in a ball in the corner of the alley.

"You're not cut out for dirty work-"

"Shut the fuck up Kuroro." She hissed out through gritted teeth.

Two weeks had elapsed since the massacre of the Kuruta clan. The Mafia and the Phantom Troupe had renewed the conditions of their mutual understanding and were once again on speaking terms. They had received a handsome sum of money that Aika absolutely refused to touch; the mere thought made her sick to her stomach.

Most importantly, the orange-haired girl had not touched the chess board in two weeks.

"You think you're so clever, analyzing all of these aspects around you." She buried her head in between her knees. "I'm not leaving the Troupe."

He stared at her silently, reveling in the spectacle of the shattered remains of a human being. "Why are you forcing yourself to do this?"

"Witless humans need no reason to justify their actions." She retorted.

"You're far from witless Ms. Brehznev."

She hissed again, uncurling herself for the first time in what seemed like days. "My name is Aika." Malice penetrated her tone of voice.

"Isn't that just as bad?" Kuroro answered sardonically. "The precious name your parents gave you?"

"_What_ are you doing here Kuroro?" Her voice was rising.

"It seems to be half past ten and I'm waiting for my daily source of entertainment, as well as to repay my eternal debt to a hormone-dominated, traumatized seventeen year old." He set his jaw.

This seemed to shove some sense into Aika's mind, and her eyes widened dramatically. "What is the point?" She chuckled, defeated, head collapsing into her open, waiting hands. "Honestly."

"Aika." Kuroro sighed in the most frank tone of voice she had ever heard him utter. "You are a member of my Troupe, and if you're crippling us more than facilitating us, I'm dismissing you."

She laughed even harder now, frame shaking. "Yes, Dancho. Of course." Aika smirked. "You're telling me to get over myself, yes?"

"To be frank, that's exactly what I'm saying." He massaged the back of his neck. "You can't be a part of a paid mercenary group if you have qualms with killing."

"I'm well aware." She uncurled herself completely and sat criss-cross. "I'll work on that for you, Dancho."

"I'm being serious."

"Kuroro," she sighed suddenly, a steely look spontaneously creeping into the corners of her eyes. "I want you to train me."

He crossed his arms, entirely baffled by this strange enigma of a girl he could never fully unravel. One minute she was brooding over the fact that she stained her hands with blood, the next displaying determination to do it better next time.

Kuroro almost retorted that he was under no obligation to but then swiftly proceeded to mentally bury his face in his hands. Aika had killed the Kuruta woman who would have mortally wounded, if not ended him two weeks ago.

Clearing his throat, he deliberated over the implications. "What kind of-"

"Everything." She frowned. "Everything you know. Make me one of you guys."

He frowned, fully having expected this vague response. "You'll hate me as an instructor."

"I would have come to hate you regardless." She shrugged. Shooting him a look, she tried to console him: "I meant it highest degree of sincerity, don't take it personally."

"Well," he shifted, correcting his posture. "why don't we start right away."

**END**

* * *

"_Conversation is mere abandon."  
-Nat Wolff_

* * *

**A/N: Heyo! So this chapter was rushed, and it kind of sucks. I'm sorry I haven't updated in awhile, I'm at an SAT camp as of now. ;_; Please bear with me. I'll try to write as much as possible soon!**


	7. The Tough Get Going

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 7: The Tough Get Going**

* * *

"_Practice does not make perfect. Practice makes permanent."  
\- Larry Gelwix_

* * *

Aika realizes that when compared to the average twenty-one year old, her chess companion and cold-blooded leader is extremely well-built. Of course she only understands this after he takes of his black blazer, leaving him in a white dress shirt, his tie loosely done.

Why on earth did he always dress so nicely anyways?

Much to her surprise, Kuroro does not do something cliché, like piss her off with cryptic directions or tell her to come at him; he motions for her to sit down of all things, and he does the same, sitting criss-crossed.

They are in the junkyard, and it is around sunset. The days seem to be flying by so much more quickly now-a-days.

Frowning, Aika relents, sitting on the dusty ground.

"What's this all about?"

"It's a lecture." He admits bluntly, cutting straight to the chase. "A lecture before we get to the training you asked about."

"Of course." She huffs.

"Will you listen?"

"I always listen to you Kuroro." She smirks.

He also crosses his arms. "I have no idea where to start with you, to be frank, or how hard you'd be willing to train." Kuroro admits. "But I suppose starting with basics is the best." He looks at her. "You need to build your core. Your legs are powerful and aid your speed well. But your upper body can use a bit of work."

She nods once, understanding his train of thought.

"Push-ups." He shrugs. "Crunches, whatever, anything that works for you." He shoots her a look. "Don't cheat yourself. Make it intense. Start with three reps of twenty for each exercise and increase the number by five every day."

She rolls her eyes as the idea of doing tedious muscle-building, but admits that it is indeed basic.

"There no way to learn how to fight unless you gain fighting experience." Kuroro scratches the back of his head, something Aika can instinctively tell is extremely out of character. "So we'll be sparring every other day, I suppose. I don't utilize weapons so ask Feitan or Nobunaga if you're interested, Paku for guns…" He trails off. "Don't irk Macchi."

Involuntarily, she chuckles.

"And that's honestly the extent of my knowledge that I can give you." He sighs, the slightest frown gracing his features.

With a start, Aika realizes that what he's saying is absolutely true. Exactly how much had she expected to learn from him? As far as she could tell, Kuroro had no visible specialty; he fought using his hands and his inherently quick reflexes. Given that much, it wasn't as if he was going to teach her reflexes; that was something gained solely through experience.

"Are you disappointed?" He questions.

"No, not at all." She lies, shrugging. "I'm grateful that you're doing this much for me."

"I suppose if you really wanted, you could build your stamina."

"Or I could just sap energy whenever I get tired, you know." She shrugs.

"I thought you had an aversion to the method?"

"I was referring to vegetation, Kuroro."

The two laugh for what feels like hours.

* * *

"_What comes easy doesn't last; what lasts doesn't come easy."  
-Unknown_

* * *

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

She cut her hair again, insisting that it got in the way of her range of motion; now it just barely frames her slender face, high cheekbones and all, and it's still orange.

Kuroro is again left stupefied by the extent of her progress. He knew her mental capability knew no bounds, but her physical progress expanded rapidly in comparison. It was unnatural and unnerving, because it had taken him three years to finally categorize fighting in his comfort zone, whereas it seemed to take three months for her.

He doesn't say it out loud –oh, god forbid; it's still a sore spot for her- but he attributes the precocious growth to her parents' meddling around with her DNA. Within the girl he sees an endless potential for growth and an unrivalled stubbornness he's never before witnessed. She's slow to tire, quick to recover, and hell-bent on anything she sets her mind to.

_Oh god Kuroro what the hell are you saying._

At first, their sessions are listless and long, just as their chess games were in the beginning. There was no fun in perfection for him, not for Kuroro; coming back after a few slips up was much more entertaining, gave him a sense of purpose, and enthralled him beyond compare.

She was feeble ere the long hours of muscle building she put in. For some reason however, the girl didn't like it when he watched her, and so she made a point of doing the activities during the daylight hours where their paths didn't cross.

Three or four missions later, Aika was benefitting handsomely in monetary affairs as well and had finally moved into a modest apartment –modest was an understatement, it was more minimalist than anything else- close in proximity to his. It was here that she practiced her drills.

They had a set time schedule: seven, they sparred, ten they played chess, and twelve, they retired for the night.

Perhaps their sparring matches were the sole reason for his existence as of now, because the leader found himself looking forward to them every other day. More often than not it was simply an endless barrage of twisting and attacking, bruises and cuts, but some days, when Aika was feeling particularly adventurous and daring, she would experiment with different kinds of combinations, kicking and punching, jumping and spinning. It was at these times that Kuroro couldn't help the grin that spread itself comfortably on his face, these times when his arms and chest were battered and sore that laughter found its way out of the captivity of his throat.

Kuroro realized somewhere along the way that all Aika had really needed were a few nudges in the right direction; a bit of coaxing, supply her with something she could enjoy, and the girl would thrive. When they talked, she was cold and caustic, pessimistic, but when they fought, Kuroro found himself staring for far longer than necessary at the smoldering in her melting hazelnut eyes. A strange but very right smile would make itself comfortable on her lips, and the knots in her body released.

She fought with a style he had never seen before. Truth be told, he had not seen all that many styles but it was unconventional enough that he could tell it was not one many people would have liked to use.

She stayed stiff, straight, and had a default stance she would always return to. Her right foot was her pivot foot when she wasn't using it to kick people and her hands stayed by her hips, open-handed.

Like Machi, Kuroro discovers that the girl has the aura of a transmuter, but is still unable to fully utilize that to her benefit. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he was happy for her, since the inherent power that her parents blessed her with left many openings and vulnerabilities; transmutation usually indicated that a nen user would have a long-distance hatsu ability.

He decides that he wants to help her awaken her nen, but isn't quite sure how he should go about it.

"Do you know what nen is?" He asks suddenly one day, as soon as they've finished sparring.

He finds his answer in the blank and confused stare that she gives him, eyes inquisitive but still naïve.

"Oh man," he sighs, mentally bracing himself to begin to talk her though the tedious and meticulous inner workings of nen, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes. "Here," he says, standing up to stretch his sore muscles. "Follow me."

She's still slightly puzzled, eyebrows knitted together in bemusement, but she stands up and follows nonetheless, falling into step behind him.

"You've heard of the Hunters, yes?" He questions.

It's a strange question. Everyone who is anyone has heard of the Hunters, the powerful and fantastic people who seek out outrageous situations as hobbies or for simple amusement. "Of course," she scoffs, barely keeping the condescension in her tone covered.

"Hunters utilize a special skill, known as nen." His walking is even, calm, and paced. It has a subconscious therapeutic effect, and Aika finds herself unusually okay with the fact that she has no idea where he is leading her. "Nen is known as the skill of consciously manipulating one's life force, or aura."

That jolts her a bit, and she frowns at him, still keeping pace. "Doesn't that sound like kind of a stretch? It's like some kind of super power."

Kuroro doesn't miss a beat: "Isn't your power kind of a stretch too? You steal life force."

Her frown deepens. Though the comments stings a bit, he has a point. "Doesn't that mean I can already use this nen then?" She retorts.

He nearly scoffs. "You've barely scratched the surface of your aura. Hunters can do multiple things with their aura: defend, attack, and even erase their presence."

"Why am I being compared to a Hunter?" Her irritation is starting to peak.

"I say this in with the utmost degree of humility, but I alone am stronger than perhaps 98 percent of the Hunter population." The Leader shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets. "To even think about the possibility of competing outside of Meteor City, you need to at least be at the level of your ordinary Hunter."

"Easier said than done." She snorts.

"Actually," he interjects. "You problem of stamina is easily solved with your ability, so that's solved. Your speed is incredible, so it's okay if you're lacking a little in the power department. As far as I can see, the only glaring problem is that of your lack of control over your aura."

"Alright then," Aika grits her teeth. "Help me do something about it won't you?"

He stops walking abruptly, looking up. Aika does the same and is slightly surprised to find that they've arrived at a clear bubbling stream. It's an uncommon sight in the trash city of Ryuuseigai, and she immediately feels like she's defiled some holy ground by being close to it.

"Why haven't I known about this?" Her gaze widens and she takes a few steps back.

"Beats me," he shrugs, a slight smirk playing on his lips; Aika knows he's fibbing, but it doesn't bother her as much as it should. "I'm going to have you do something. Can you humor me for a bit?"

She narrows her eyes, but nods.

A few moments later, Kuroro has returned with clear water cupped in his hands, and he asks her to place a small leaf atop the water's surface.

Indeed, it takes a bit of humoring.

"This process is known as water divination." He explains, eyes focused on the water in front of him. "There are six different types of nen users, and the water is going to tell us which kind you are."

"How?" She asks dubiously, frustrated,

"Focus your energy onto the water."

"What?" Aika crosses her arms, glaring at him now.

"Aika," his tone expresses that he's almost as exasperated as her. "Put your hands over the water and do something to it."

"Do what?"

"What _else_?"

Nearly, hissing, she does as he says and tries to suck the goddamn life from the goddamn water. What the hell did he mean, what else?

Kuroro has fixed the water with a curious look, and motions toward her. "Taste it."

"This is Meteor City water, Kuroro-"

"You saw the stream and how clean it was." He interrupts again, raising his hands. "Taste it."

Aika is fixed with the ambiguous thought of bashing her mentor's head in; deciding against her deepest desire, she dips her finger in the water and brings it to her mouth. She starts. "Is the stream supposed to be filled with sweet water?"

A slow smile spreads itself across his face and he lets the water fall to the ground with a splash as he releases his hands. "As I thought."

"Can you explain your cryptic directions now, Kuroro?" She inhales deeply, sighing.

"I figured you had a transmuter's aura, but I just wanted to make sure." He shrugs.

"Do you think I know what that means?" The orange-haired girl fights the urge to raise her voice.

Another half hour later, Kuroro has successfully pounded the principles and properties of nen into his faithful –and irritable- disciple and she's sitting on the grassy ground with her head in her hand, brain pounding.

"You're a specialist?" She asks, eyes scrunched in concentration. "Man I'd like to see you go all out in a fight."

"Same goes for me." He shrugs.

Aika is slightly confused, but decides not to say anything. "So, what the hell do I do with all of this new information?"

"Well, that's where I come in."

The girl uses her hands to press in on the temples on either side so quell the headache she can feel starting to rear its ugly head. She doesn't like the idea of physically manifesting and manipulating something as prominent as her own life force, or aura, and finds the leap difficult to take.

"What's wrong?" Kuroro inquires.

It's a simple question, she knows, but that very question sends powerful chills down the back of her spine and she takes a step back, away from him.

The query is an intimate one, and Aika hasn't like the idea of closeness and intimacy since she met Mike and he was ripped away from her.

"Nothing." She nearly hisses back, swatting at the air in an attempt to actually wave it away. "I'm fine. Go on."

He stares at her for a moment longer, his gaze deep and piercing, eyes dubious. Nonetheless, he proceeds after a deep sigh. "Transmuation is the ability to manifest your aura in any shape or form you wish. Machi's aura takes the form of sharp, almost invisible wires."

Aika rolls her eyes, overlooking the glaringly obvious facts.

"For transmuters, the manifestation of their aura tends to mirror their demeanors." He steals and glace at her. "Machi, as we all know, is bitingly curt and rather cold; wires are a perfect fit for her. You on the other hand, are naïve and moralistic." He crosses his arms, face scrunched in concentration.

"What?" The girl flushes deeply, unable to look him in the eye.

"When I think of you, I think of fire." He finally says after a long several seconds. "And to you, I'm sure that's not much, but it's a place to start."

"Fire?" Aika repeats, bemused.

"You're easy to anger, and unpredictable." He says this with his gaze still on her and she begins to fidget. "Passionate about what you do, and raging once you're started."

"Again, what am I supposed to do with this?" She huffs.

"Aika," he smirks. "How does the idea of shooting fire from your hands sound?"

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

"_Man fears the darkness, so he scrapes away at the edges of it with fire."  
\- Ayanami Rei (Neon Genesis Evangelion)_

* * *

**A/N: OH MY. I'M SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN SO LONG. School's started for me, so getting time to write will probably difficult. I'm sorry! DX This chapter was also kind of boring, I apologize. It was short and tedious, but it was very necessary, so please humor me. It will really pick up soon! Please please review, it makes me so happy when you guys drop comments! :D See you next time!**


	8. Of Dragons and Other Mythical Objects

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 8: Of Dragons, Relationships, and Other Mythical Objects**

* * *

"_You see, I'm sure we can change, because we're weak, and because we die. We have to fight in order to live, and that is what will make us strong."  
-Trisha Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist)_

* * *

"Fire?" Aika repeated, scoffing as she rolled her eyes and shifted her weight onto one leg. "Shooting it, nonetheless?"

The sass was unreal, and Kuroro had the urge to suppress a smirk, as he usually had to do around the female.

"Okay, Aika, I know you're skeptical-" He started.

"Outright disbelieving is the word." She corrected him promptly, holding back laughter.

"As I was saying," he stole the talking privileges back, straightening up and smiling down at the cheeky female. "Machi is a transmuter. Her wires are a manifestation of her aura. If she can do that, why do you think that the idea of manifesting your own aura as fire to be so far-fetched?"

"Because," she chuckled, "it's _fire_, and don't you dare tell me that's not the most clichéd thing you could have ever thought up."

"Do you think you're opponent will be judging your combat ability on the basis of its originality?"

One thing Aika had noticed was that when the two of them were alone, their conversations usually transformed into rallies of who could shoot back the pithier, wittier comeback.

She raised both her hands in mock surrender. "Okay." She shrugged, "Okay you're right. Let's say I shoot fire from my mouth-"

"_Hands_."

"-like a fire breathing dragon and manage to do that without somehow killing myself in the process. And then what?"

Kuroro shot her a dubious look. "What do you think will be next?"

With a slight start, Aika realized where this was going.

Kuroro picked up on the sudden shift in atmosphere as it made the transition from a lighthearted, joking mood to suddenly bleak and crushing. "Aika, I thought I had warned you sufficiently about become someone I would train."

"I know," she frowned, nodding, "I know, you did, goddammit, you did, I hate it when you're right."

Kuroro sighed, crossing his arms, examining her again. "You don't need to do this you know. We can stop now."

The orange-haired teen only deepened her scowl, shooting him a look. "You'd think after two years of wasting your time with someone like me you'd have grasped my nature by now. I don't start things I don't intend to finish."

The leader of the Geneiryodan had upon more than one occasion questioned his sanity and mental stability in letting this emotionally driven female into his top tier rank of cold-blooded killers, but it was at times like these when he remembered the reason why he had proposed the idea in the first place.

Aika was someone who could not be tamed, and a person like her was so incredibly refreshing and _necessary_ in Kuroro's life, his life where everyone recognized his superiority and immediately knelt.

But despite this wonderful, new, and enlightening experience, Kuroro again found himself slightly exasperated with the girl.

"Aika, if you're going to train under me, I'm not going to relax any of standards for you. This is meant to serve mostly as a defensive mechanism; your primary mode of defense will be your inherent power."

"Did I ask you to relax yours standards for me?"

_Yes, implicitly_. But Kuroro neglected to mention that aloud lest he anger the girl more. "You're going to need to shed your qualms with bloodshed if you want to get stronger."

Aika look a very long glance at him, examining him in much the same way he did her a few moments before.

Who was this man to tell her she had to abandon her morals? Where was the human inside of him?

"What?" He said, tilting his head slightly, staring at her.

"Do you even realize how terrifying you are Kuroro?" Aika narrowed her eyes, shaking her head from side to side. "You scare the living daylights out of me."

"Please, enlighten me."

The orange-haired teen crossed her arms, feeling a strange feeling stirring within her. "What is the value of a human life?"

"One human life." Kuroro shrugged. "Nothing more, nothing less."

Aika almost asked how he would feel if someone killed him but she bit her tongue back at just the right moment, understanding how dreadfully silly that would have sounded.

He seemed to know what she starting to get at however, and responded accordingly. "I don't live in fear of death like the rest of you." He sighed. "In fact, I think everything would be so much nicer if death came sooner than later."

"How depressing."

"I am a realist Aika, to the tee."

"You're an opportunist." She corrected him. "One day, please explain your traumatizing past to me." She said casually, so much that it was almost comical. There was no way in hell anyone could have such an inherent disregard for human life.

"Maybe when you checkmate me. Or beat me a sparring match." He smiled wryly.

"Now it's your turn to enlighten me. Why do you think I need to become a heartless bastard like you in order to become stronger?"

"Good question," he admitted. "If there's anything I've learned from my 21 years of life it's that relationships are restricting and that humans are vile creatures, so I'm essentially doing the earth a favor."

"Oh _fuck you_, was_ that_ your justification when you decided to murder Mike?" Aika felt a sudden rush of anger and before her mind alerted her, her fist was connected with Kuroro's already-raised arm.

"You seem to have no qualms with pummeling me," Kuroro commented nonchalantly, shaking out his right forearm. "So consider yourself halfway there."

Indignantly, Aika nearly snarled at him. "Fine, I'll humor you. Show me how to shoot fire from my hands."

Kuroro lifted his arm to examine the damage. To his pleasant surprise, he could feel traces of the female's aura clinging to his sleeve; it wasn't the nice type either, but malicious and full of irritation.

"Patience, young blood." He said, amused. "We'll get there."

* * *

"_You have to change yourself first, or nothing will change for you."  
\- Sakata Gintoki (Gintama)_

* * *

"Again," she demanded.

Kuroro chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Aika, there's nothing left to burn."

"We can move." She insisted.

The girl was covered in burns, some minor, some rather nasty. The tips of her hair were slightly singed, and the odor was pungent. Kuroro had to give her credit however, for the intensity of her focus.

He decided that the best way to go about the training was immersion therapy. In order to apply the traits and characteristics of fire to her aura, Aika needed to know everything there was to know about it.

How it behaved, what it liked and fed off of, what was fatal, what it could cause.

"Heal yourself first." He said, sitting down on the scorched grass beneath him.

"Kuroro," she said, tone of voice nearly reprimanding. "Please don't belittle me. I can do that when we finish."

"Alright then." Kuroro heaved himself to his feet once more, flipping open his book, searching for another stolen move that would lend itself to fire again.

* * *

"_I just wanna get stronger. Strong enough so that once day, I can control my anger."  
\- Heiwajima Shizuo (Durarara!)_

* * *

**ONE MONTH LATER**

It took the female awhile. Time seemed to be flying by so much more quickly now that she had something to do throughout the day other than simply read and feed herself. Nowadays, she found that even books were hard to come by.

Sometimes the two skipped out on their chess games, having been spent during the day on the arduous and worthwhile training sessions Kuroro would hold with her.

There was always a nagging sensation in the back of her mind however, and she supposed she questioned Kuroro's motives for putting up with her for so long. She had nothing to offer him, other than perhaps entertainment, and even that should have run dry quote some time ago.

Then again, Aika reminded herself that Kuroro had never been someone you could package neatly into little categories. He was an enigma of sorts, motivated by self-interest and interest of the Troupe, nothing more, nothing less.

As of now, she had two abilities that had become nothing less than second nature to her: the power to shoot her aura from her hand, and the ability to envelop herself in it. Both gave her aura the appearance of fire.

Kuroro seemed slightly disappointed, noting that the appearance of the flame was always a licking fiery red, signifying a colder flame, but given that she had progressed so quickly within the span of four weeks, Kuroro told himself to be contented.

It wasn't as if the flame wasn't hot after all; get hit full on and no one would escape with anything less than a third-degree burn.

For the first time in a long time, Aika was happy. She was starting to get stronger, and she found that even though it had been unintentional, her stamina increased with the amount of time she invested. Lean muscle took the place of undeveloped ligaments and her reactions became more instantaneous.

_The human is truly a fearsome beast_, Kuroro thought to himself, _with it's unlimited potential for adaptation and evolution._

One day when the seasons were changing and spring was starting to bring rains, Kuroro brought news of a mission, more lucrative than previous ones, but of course, associated with more risks.

"How the hell do you even say their last name?" Aika scowled, brushing her fingers through her now shoulder-length hair.

"Irrelevant." Kuroro immediately shrugged off the trivial thought. "A request has come in for the Mafia to dispose of a certain family of assassins."

"Ironic."

"I agree. But the Mafia isn't quite prepared for a job of this caliber yet and so-"

Aika interrupted. "And since when did the Mafia begin to take requests from elites in order to gain funding?"

"Ever since they realized it was a lucrative business."

"Go on."

"And so, of course they've put it on us." Kuroro finished anticlimactically. "We have the option of refusing it, at the cost of the animosity of the entire Mafia, which is incidentally not a new concept."

"So what's the problem?"

"Well," Kuroro sighed, "The Zoldycks are actually a family of assassins and are apparently highly formidable. And in addition, it's a dispatch mission for a duo."

Aika groaned. "Why do they need to make everything to challenging?"

Kuroro started at her for a moment. "If you're in agreement, I'm considering dispatching you and myself."

The female stood thunderstruck, staring bemusedly at Kuroro. "I've hardly wrapped my head around the concept of using my nen to make fire-"

"Which, I might add, is still a misconception on your part."

"And you want me to go hunt some assassins with you?"

"Essentially, yes."

Aika crossed her arms, both flattered by Kuroro's faith and also indignant that he was unable to judge her level of unpreparedness. "What will happen should I refuse?"

"We refuse the mission." He shrugged.

"That doesn't make any sense!" She insisted. "Take Paku or Uvogin with you."

"Pakunoda is someone who deals with transfer of data, and for this mission, some semblance of inconspicuousness is required, so Uvo and Franklin are out of the question. Nobu looks like he belongs in a history textbook, Machi's threads will wind up being useless against half of the family… Need I go on?"

"So you settle on a rookie who has anger issues when she sees the sight of blood?"

"You're being too modest, I've seen you fight in the last three or so missions, you don't bat an eye anymore Aika."

"That doesn't mean I don't feel anything!"

"It'll be a good experience," he pressed, folding the papers up deftly.

Aika glanced at him with a sideways glare. "This is not a good idea."

"What if I say you'll enjoy yourself?" Kuroro proffered, putting them away.

"Why should I believe that?"

"You don't need to, it's a simply offer."

Kuroro was always so infuriatingly cool about anything, and if Aika didn't know any better, she would have shouted that for once, couldn't he _care _about something, care deeply? Was there nothing he was passionate about?

"Kuroro." She huffed.

"Aika." He returned. After a pause: "Why don't we play a chess match tonight."

She held her gaze for a moment longer and then all of the tension seemed to dissipate from her shoulders in an instant. Dumb dancho.

"I hate you."

"I think I'm the white pieces tonight."

"Absolutely loathe you."

"We meet at 18 o' clock sharp tomorrow afternoon for the mission, Aika."

"I better be getting paid for this shit."

**TO BE CONTINUED.**

* * *

"_Love is when your significant other makes you the most you you could possibly be."  
-Unknown_

* * *

**A/N: Hello darlings, I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever. Junior year is hell on wheels. This chapter was very rushed and sloppily done. After I finish the first arc, I think I'll redo it. I'm also sorry about all the time skips. It's for your sake, I promise, because if I detailed everything about their training you'd gouge your eyes out. I hope you're enjoying yourself so far. **

**The story will really pick up in the ensuing chapters so keep your eyes open! Thanks for your continued support. Do leave a review! Until next time ~**


	9. The First Movement

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 9: The First Movement**

* * *

_"Be friends with someone who doesn't make you think friendship is hard."_  
_-Unknown_

* * *

"I'm confused." She deadpanned, squeezing her eyes shut tightly in exasperation. "Why are we going shopping of all things?"

"Like I said," Kuroro returned, every bit as exasperated as she was. "This is a covert mission, at least up to a certain point. We're going to The Zoldyck mansion as guests and so we might as well dress up for it."

"So the mission is to go to a dinner party?"

"And in the meantime kill a few assassins."

"I can't _walk_ in heels Kuroro, much less incapacitate people."

"I'm sure you'll manage."

In the end, the two wound up helping each other out.

"No no, not that one. Try the blue halter-neck over there."

"What the hell would a guy like you know about dress colors?"

"A lot more than a Ryuuseigai orphan who's been stealing bread and playing chess for the past god knows how many years of her life."

"I like maroon."

"Blue suits you better Aika."

And a good twenty minutes later, vice versa:

"Well the mission is a dispatch for two right?" She questioned.

"I don't see what that has to do with the color of the tie."

"It should match the color of the dress, you moron, we're going as a duo."

"Are you sure you want to be mistaken for a duo Aika?"

"Just take my advice."

"Yeah, like how you wanted to get the that atrocious maroon colored excuse for a dress not half an hour back."

"I went along with your advice, the least you can do is take mine."

They argue for what seems like hours, but for Aika, the hours never seem to be quite enough.

* * *

"_You know, the smallest things can take up the most space in your heart."  
\- Winnie the Pooh_

* * *

The mansion was enormous, and how anyone, even a family of eight, could occupy its entire space was beyond her understanding.

Aika wasn't exactly sure what was going on, only that the family of assassins seemed to be holding a social gathering, which was strange enough, given their tendency for seclusion.

She did her orange hair up into bun, contrasting shockingly with the deep royal blue dress Kuroro had chosen for her, Grudgingly, she inwardly admitted that the leader had surprisingly good color-coordinating abilities.

It was an asymmetrical dress, sleeveless on her left side with a sheen, slitted long sleeve on her right, reaching tightly just below the lower thigh.

"Kuroro," someone greeted them, shaking the twenty-one year old's hand enthusiastically, "how have you been lately?"

"I've been enjoying myself thoroughly Peter." Kuroro returned, afterward quickly putting his hands back into his pockets.

"I see you've gotten yourself a woman." He seemed genuinely surprised, eyes sparkling with lively vacuity. "Good evening _doamnă _(madam)," the male bowed slightly, raising her hand to his lips. "Peter Dimitrova."

"I would watch myself," Kuroro smirked. "She enjoys spiting people."

"Only you." Aika scoffed.

"I never would have imagined you with someone." Dimitrova commented.

"We're not," Aika kindly interjected.

Kuroro elbowed her slightly. "This Lord Dimitrova," Kuroro motioned to the man before her. "I owe him a few favors here and there."

"You owe me quite the number too." Aika smiled too widely.

The lighting was bright, too bright for her taste, but the music was of high quality, clear and crisp in the form of a symphony. Aika had always preferred the smoothness of classical.

The entire mansion had a peculiar ambiance, filled with the very rich, high-class snobs Aika had been conditioned to loathe.

The two eventually disentangled themselves from the crowd, and she heaved a sigh of relief at finally being able to breathe comfortably again.

"You're doing much better than I expected," the older male commented suddenly, taking a sip from whatever drink whoever had offered him. "I'm impressed."

"I wasn't seeking your approval but thanks nonetheless." She cast him a sideways glance.

The pair suddenly became aware of their surroundings. It was indeed a formal party of some sort, but Aika understood that the only figures who had been invited were older men of higher status; any women there seemed to be their partners. And any duos there seemed to be dancing.

"May I ask for a dance?" Came the unexpected, timely proposition.

Aika almost laughed out loud at the ludicrous offer; waltzing with Kuroro Lucifer of all people, what a joke. She turned around to face him, fully expecting his facial expression to break in jest, but much to her surprise, it was deadpan serious.

"You're not funny, Kuroro."

"I wasn't trying to be Ms. Brezhnev." He tried again. "May I have this dance?"

The girl was so taken aback she was a heartbeat late in scrambling for a witty comeback, opting simply to concede. "Only because you asked so nicely."

Having spent so much time around someone so intellectually stimulating had both taken a toll on her and also vastly increased her mental capabilities. Sometimes, the orangette looked back on her life and mentality not three years ago and inwardly cringed. To be quite frank, Aika was much happier now that she had met someone like Kuroro; more than she could have been trying to fend for herself alone.

He took her hand with his and placed his other around her waist, making sure to keep considerable distance; given her nature, it would be hard to quiet her down if he did something stupid.

"As much as I'd enjoy wasting the night away dancing here with you, don't we have a mission to carry out?" She smirked, falling into step with him. "I'm sure that genius brain of yours has an idea."

"No matter how I thought about it, this couldn't have been a dispatch mission." Kuroro sighed. "A family of eight to be taken out by the Spider's head and an amateur?" She cast a severe glance his way. "I'm being frank here."

"And so?"

"And so Uvogin and the rest of them are hidden outside the mansion." Kuroro shrugged. "I told them to come along, since there was no way we would be doing this alone."

"I'm sure they've been noticed." Aika frowned.

Throughout the entire conversation their steps never faltered once. Kuroro found himself slightly impressed by the overall air she emitted. It was flawless, if not slightly pompous, and though normally, she would have been considered out of place, Aika seemed to be very at ease.

"Of course they have, they're bumbling idiots without me and the Zoldyck family is composed of nothing less than absolute monsters." He lamented. "But they can get the job done when it involves dirty work, so I wouldn't worry too much."

"Is there an actual plan?" She pressed for more, absolutely convinced that someone like Kuroro would not have jumped headfirst into such dangerous territory without deliberating over it painstakingly first.

"Of course there is."

She waited.

"The two older brothers, Milluki and Illumi, going by the info the Mafia has provided, are currently out of the household performing jobs. There is Zeno, the grandfather, Silva, the head of the household, and two children along with the mother."

"Doesn't that add up to seven?"

"The eighth member of the family is a heavily guarded secret of the family."

"Sounds like we'll be screwed over then."

"Not necessarily. Going off of context clues I've picked up from here and there, it seems to be something they're committed to keeping covered."

"Who's taking which target?"

"Pakunoda will refrain from fighting unless necessary. It's not as if nen bullets will be able to do much against this family anyways." He pondered. "I will go after Silva, Feitan called Zeno."

"I'm surprised Uvo let him."

"I stopped Uvo. He's powerful but he's a little bit challenged at times; Zeno could easily outsmart him."

"And Franklin and the rest of them then?"

"Nobunaga said he'd stick with Uvo. The rest of you are to go after the mother and the children."

"Hnn."

"Don't underestimate them because they're children." He looked at her solemnly. "And don't let your sentiment get to you when it really counts."

"You underestimate me Kuroro." Aika said pointedly.

"I worr-" Kuroro cut himself off, appalled.

Their rhythm was slightly thrown off but quickly recovered. Aika looked at him strangely, confused. She'd never seen him be hesitant about anything before and it unnerved her.

"What?" She questioned.

_I worry about you is what it is_, he thought. But he kept the words within his throat. "I would never." Kuroro saved the dangling fragment with an impromptu smirk.

She looked fantastic in blue, he discovered, silently approving of his own taste. The royal blue provided a striking comparison against her bright orange hair, which had been done up in a bun. He himself on the other hand didn't look much different than he usually did since he almost always opted for semi-formal attire on a daily basis.

_Kuroro, don't get soft on yourself now. _

"How will I know when it's okay to go for it?" She questioned.

"You'll figure it out." He replied.

"Of course."

"For example," he smirked. All of a sudden, Kuroro's aura skyrocketed and Aika jumped all of five feet away from him, shocked and terrified, quite frankly. About a fourth of the crowd was thrown into a panic, feeling the increase in pressure.

And then the chaos erupted.

The windows from the left side all shattered simultaneously. Sensing danger, the girl's heart leapt to her throat and coated herself in nen, a defensive mechanism that had been drilled into her subconscious via Kuroro's brutal training.

"If we see Frankling's nen-coated bullets flying every which way, it's probably okay to let loose." He finished.

The projectiles pinged off of her, but not without considerable pressure from the impact, and she winced slightly. "I hate you _so _much." She hissed, throwing off her godforsaken heels and then scanning the crowd for her own targets.

She had been shown the pictures of the entire family beforehand so she knew roughly the people she was looking for, but still, it took her a good thirty seconds to pinpoint them within the tumult of the crowd.

Blood began to pool at her feet, and Aika hissed in disgust. She has forgotten; just because she was able to deflect bullets didn't mean the people around her could. In fact, that was point. She just never fathomed seeing so much as once.

Why it had taken her so long to find one of the children was beyond her. There was silver haired child in the corner of the ballroom, eyes wide with hands in his pockets, seemingly confused but not at all perturbed by the mass murder that had just taken place before him. He was one of the only ones not scrambling for his life.

The rest of the Phantom Troupe came crashing in through the windows, and Aika clearly heard Uvogin's obnoxious shouting reverberate throughout the spacious room. She turned around to tell the man to _shut the fuck up_, but as soon as she did, she felt the aura of her target abruptly disappear.

"Shit!" She cursed under her breath. There was a silhouette moving at an alarming pace through the double doors of the ballroom and rounding the corner just beyond them.

Aika decided to pursue, brow furrowed in concentration.

The child couldn't have been more than seven or eight years of age, so she found herself becoming increasingly flustered when she was having trouble pinpointing his location.

"Are you really a member of the Phantom Troupe?"

Aika whirled around, scanning the hallways for him, cursing the dress and her own ineptitude; she came face to face with... a seven year old kid half her height? For the love of god-

"Father said you would come and try to get rid of us," the child shrugged, a skateboard tucked away under his left arm, "but you're not all that great." He sighed, as if lamenting the fact. "I was looking forward to it too…"

Aika gritted her teeth, feeling her blood pressure physically spike. "Don't get to so cocky will you? You haven't even seen anything!"

He pointed at her all of a sudden, abruptly halting her string of colorful language. "You run loudly. If I really wanted to I could have killed you a few minutes ago."

The girl felt a tic form on her forehead. Told off by someone less than half her age too.

"Killua." The child offered.

"What?" She snapped, confused and frustrated.

"Killua." A sudden change in the ambiance made itself known. "The name of Zoldyk family member that killed you."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

"_I'm creating trouble, can't you see?"  
\- Sohma Hatsuharu (Fruits Basket)_

* * *

**A/N: oh goodness i feel like my writing gets progressively worse. thank you for all of your lovely feedback! this chapter was a lot of dialogue. for some reason, ive been getting really bad writer's block lately. how is my updating speed? school is terrible so thank you for your patience! ill do my best -_-**

**do leave a review! come back soon!**


	10. The Heart Is Only An Organ

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 10: The Heart Is Only An Organ**

* * *

"_The real trick of combat is that everyone's human."  
-Lelouch Lamperouge (Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion)_

* * *

**Previously: **

"Are you really a member of the Phantom Troupe?"

Aika whirled around, cursing the dress and her own ineptitude; she came face to face with... a seven year old kid half her height? For the love of god-

"Father said you would come and try to get rid of us," the child shrugged, a skateboard tucked away under his left arm, "but you're not all that great." He sighed, as if lamenting the fact. "I was looking forward to it too…"

Aika gritted her teeth, feeling her blood pressure physically spike. "Don't get to so cocky will you? You haven't even seen anything!"

He pointed at her all of a sudden, abruptly halting her string of colorful language. "You run loudly. If I really wanted to I could have killed you a few minutes ago."

The girl felt a tic form on her forehead. Told off by someone less than half her age too.

"Killua." The child offerd.

"What?" She snapped, confused and frustrated.

"Killua." A sudden change in the ambiance made itself known. "The name of Zoldyk family member that killed you."

* * *

Aika crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "You?" She asked, cocking her head to the side. "Kill me? You're like ten."

Killua rolled his eyes in response. "And you're like, forty."

"I'm seventeen!" She barked. "Get over yourself."

The orangette blinked when she suddenly realized that the child was no longer in front of her.

"Where are you looking, old hag?"

She ducked just in time to see a sneakered kick go flying a mere three inches over her head with such velocity she could feel the wind against her hair.

Heart rate now successfully elevated, Aika quickly put some more space between herself and the young assassin. "Bite to go with the bark," she muttered under her breath.

"I'm seven by the way." He sneered, sticking his tongue out.

How embarrassing.

"There's no need to feel bad about yourself though." The silver-haired youngster shrugged, putting his skateboard down and placing his hands in his pockets. "You're just a normal person, right? You're actually doing really well."

Aika didn't enjoy being looked down on by someone less than half her age. Why did the kid talk so much anyways? She doubted she was even capable to speaking in coherent language like this was she was seven, much less able to incapacitate someone, an act Aika was sure the kid was very comfortable with.

Moving quickly, she decided to go on the offensive. Kuroro would only mock her if she spent too much time on the child.

Flaring her nen, she burst forward, using the concentrated strength in her calves and grabbed him by the throat.

Killua's eyes widened, a sign that he had been taken off guard by her speed, much as she had been before. He hit the wall behind him painfully as she slammed him into it, but didn't panic, as any other person would have.

Calmly, he placed both hands on Aika's wrist and proceeded to tighten his grip painfully.

She quickly released for fear of having her wrist snapped and kneed him in the ribcage for good measure.

He was very quick, she would admit, and had the wonderful ability to overpower his own instincts, but Killua was lacking in the diversity of battle experience.

After kneeing him, she delivered a quick elbow to the sternum and again proceeded to grab him by the throat, this time with her dominant left hand.

Breathing deeply, Aika concentrated on her intuitive talent; that was, the ability to suck people dry, as Kuroro had so eloquently put it.

Killua showed no obvious and melodramatic indication of pain, only a closed left eye and a very malicious glare.

The child hadn't learned nen yet from what she could tell-

The doors to the room they were in burst open and lo and behold, in came a very irritated Kuroro Lucifer with bloody murder written in his gaze.

"We're going back." He announced, shooting a quick look at the odd picture of Aika holding a boy half her height by the throat.

Confusion slapped itself onto her face. "What? We just…?"

"Are you going to make me repeat myself?" The male was obviously highly agitated, jaw locked and set and eyes hardened. "We're going back. Finish up with the child."

Aika immediately released her grip on Killua, letting him fall heavily to the ground, gaze still fixed bemusedly on Kuroro. "Are we abandoning the mission?"

Three seconds later Kuroro had smashed the silver haired assassin through the floor, splintering and cracking the wood and successfully knocking the seven year old unconscious.

"Finish up does not mean half-ass your objective." He commented coldly. "We're leaving. Now."

"Kuroro!" Aika shouted. "Slow down and explain yourself! You didn't need to do that, he wouldn't have been able to m-"

He didn't stay to hear the rest; instead, he quickly rushed out of the room, leaving her to follow his path of fury.

* * *

"_The world is not so simple. You can't save people with kindness only."  
\- Yukyuzan Anji (Rurouni Kenshin)_

* * *

The girl sat with head in both hands, back pressed against the damp wall of her old lonely alleyway; her little condo nearby didn't really suit her mood. It was raining in Meteor City, an event rare in itself within the dusty, desolate wasteland of self-pity.

She had ripped off the blue dress she had bought, changed back into her casual attire; her hair had been ripped from its bun, wet and pushed back, a sign of her inner turmoil and reflection.

The rain was soaking her to the bone, but it felt very nice. Cleansing, in a way.

She judged it was nearing dawn, though it was hard to tell given that the sky was shrouded over in angry rain clouds.

It was the first time Kuroro had skipped their chess match since they had met; she didn't know why but she felt very betrayed. The idea was ridiculous in it of itself because for there to have been betrayal, there had to have been trust, and she would like to say she was wise enough to never have trusted the leader of the Phantom Troupe.

Strange. Some of the raindrops tasted of salt.

* * *

"_How will you confront this hatred in order to create peace?"  
\- Pain (Naruto Shippuden)_

* * *

Six days passed in which Aika finished a total of eight novels, half of which were by Charles Dickens, since the writer seemed to be someone Kuroro was fond of.

Absentmindedly, she wondered if she was naïve to think Kuroro had been fond of her too.

Now that she had money, she didn't need to run around as much to get away from angry shop-keepers. She could buy the bread she wanted and pay someone to help run the shop Mike had run.

Thieving and murdering was very profitable, much to her dismay.

But she missed running around with unruly hair and rags for clothes, sleeping with books and playing chess orally.

Aika sighed deeply, realizing that becoming older than the age of fifteen had been the most grave mistake she had ever made in her entire life.

* * *

"_Being weak means that there's room to grow."  
-Ittetsu Takeda (Haikyuu!)_

* * *

On the seventh day after the mission and no contact whatsoever from her Dancho, she woke up to the disgusting smell of something burning.

Aika started, realizing that she had fallen asleep in the alleyway again and that someone was sitting on the opposite side of the alley across from her.

"You look so peaceful when you sleep."

The girl found herself getting to her feet immediately, unsure what was expected of her in the situation.

"You're… smoking?"

"I figured it's something I needed to try sometime." Kuroro Lucifer shrugged, inhaling deeply and then blowing out smoke. "It's fucking gross."

He was a wreck, as bad as her, actually. His hair was knotted slightly and he wore slacks and a plain white crew neck shirt.

"Since when did you curse?" Aika shook her head, "Since when did you spend your time drowning yourself in cigarette smoke?"

"Since three days ago. Do you want one?"

"What's wrong with you?!" She shouted. "You don't talk to me for a week and then come crawling back in this unsightly form?!"

"Pawn to C2." He breathed, closing his eyes, blowing out more smoke.

She started crying.

* * *

_"Memories... of the people we were. They're subtle, but they're real."_  
_-Lust (Fullmetal Alchemist)_

* * *

"Lately, I've been stuck."

"Strange, you're not the type of person who spends time agonizing over a decision. Or at least, I don't seeing you doting over something for extended periods of time."

"I don't."

"Go on."

"The Mafia have been irking me as of late. Using us to do the dirty work they don't want to stain on their hands. Toying with us on the pretense of proving our loyalty."

"Why didn't you just break it off?"

"Like I said earlier, we know too much about them. I'm not exactly sure what their higher ups were thinking, but I doubt they were so witless as to presume that they could overpower us in terms of manpower, no matter their numbers. They're only human after all."

"So?"

"But they're a pain to have as an enemy. No matter where you go, someone's always connected to them."

"A minor irritation for the Kuroro Lucifer, is it not?"

"Don't mock me. Besides, if they did decide to get rid of us because of the information we have on them, we would be forced to get rid of them, and what does that make us?"

"You're going so far as to assume that you wipe them out completely? Isn't that a bit arrogant?"

"Have you ever met someone who wasn't arrogant?"

"What does this have to do with your completely uncalled for and ass-like behavior this past week?"

"Silva and I had a nice long talk in the main room of the mansion that night. After trying to cut each other's throats out for about six and half minutes, that is."

"Don't tell me the head of a family of assassins was the one who made you see the light."

"Alright then, I won't."

"Geez."

"In the long run, I suppose it'll be worth it. I've sent news that we will no longer be beneath the protection of Mafia. I saw no reason to do their bidding and take out a family of assassins we clearly were not equipped to deal with."

"Why did it take you so long to decide?"

"I stumbled across something very strange recently. I think it's called worry. I've never really had to deal with it before."

"Kuroro, are you even human?"

"Aika, I am a Spider first, a human second.

* * *

"_It wasn't said. It was felt, and that made it all the more genuine."  
\- Me_

* * *

"We're no longer under the protection of the Mafia." He announced. Kuroro was back with suit and hands-in-pockets and all, in all of his former glory.

The PSA elicited no visible reaction from anyone other than Uvogin who whooped rather loudly, victoriously. "That means we can do whatever the hell we want to right?! WOOHOO!"

"Uvo, tone it down will you?" Nobu covered his ears. "If I go deaf I'm killing you."

"Up to a certain extent, yes." The Brigade head nodded. "But for the time being lay low for awhile longer. They'll be itching for fresh blood, I suppose, and I've never been good at predicting what the idiots at HQ were plotting."

This seemed to dampen Uvogin's mood considerably, and so his voice softened to the point where there was no immediate threat of loss of hearing to his fellow Troupe members.

"That was all I called the Troupe together for." Kuroro said. "So enjoy the rest of your day, and don't stir up too much havoc. Disperse."

Leisurely, the members picked their way out of the yard one by one. Soon, only Aika and Kuroro were left standing.

"Do you want one?" Kuroro asked. He extended the cartridge of cigarettes to the girl.

"I'm seventeen." She commented.

"And I'm tone deaf. Do you want one?"

She took one. "You'll die early."

He lit it and put it in between his lips.

Aika casually leaned and pressed her cigarette to his, lighting hers as well.

One big drag and she had her hands on her knees, hacking her lungs out. "How the hell do you do that?"

"It's kind of life coffee." He admitted. "Bitter at first. Always bitter. You kind of come to like it though."

"It's not bitter, it's like inhaling ash." She retorted.

"Because it _is_ inhaling ash, Aika."

"You should stop. This is your second pack this week, isn't it?"

"And?"

"Like I said, you'll die." Aika tried again, inhaling a bit more shallowly this time. She managed to exhale this time, though still not without considerable difficulty.

"Are you scared of death?" He asked, sitting down next to her on a crate.

"Is that a question?"

A pause.

"Yes, Kuroro, I am scared of dying."

"I'm not." He looked up at the sky. "Think about it. There are six billion of us. What will my death make a difference? And besides," he leaned back, "this life is tiring. The sooner I die, the better."

"A nihilist in addition to an opportunist, I see. Very ironic." This time she took a drag and got is just right.

"Why are you scared of it?"

"I'm not scared per say. I think it's accurate to say I'm not looking forward to the pain that will accompany it." She shrugged. "There are sights to see, and books to read, feelings to feel. I don't want to leave without being known and knowing. Why would I waste my chance to make the world a better place?"

"How romantic."

"I think you're just angry at the world Kuroro." She paused again. "Do you believe in God?"

He was slightly taken aback by the abrupt and controversial nature of the question. "Do I…?" He chuckled a little bit. "Guess."

"Tell me."

"No, Aika, I don't believe in a higher power. There's too much chaos for there to be a god or whatever."

"Not even from a Deist perspective?"

"Have you been reading philosophy lately?"

"Answer the damn question."

"No not even from a Deist perspective."

She threw the cigarette aside. "I do. I mean look at all of this. Look at how beautiful it is."

Kuroro neglected to say out loud that she said the last three sentences staring straight at him.

She, on the other hand, neglected to mention that she believed in God only because she didn't trust nature to conjure up such a perfect arrangement of atoms to assemble someone like him.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

"_The best kind of love helps you grow up."  
\- Misawa Mitsuyoshi (Tonari no Kaibutsu-kun)_

* * *

**A/N: I banged this all out in one night, please forgive the messiness. I'd had a bad case of writer's block for a good three weeks. I'm sorry T^T I hope you're enjoying so far. Ily 3 Please read and drop a review!**


	11. Unbecoming of You

**Book 1: Simplicitatem **

**Chapter 11: Unbecoming of You**

* * *

"_I think we start walking in the right direction only after we start getting our counterparts beside us."  
\- Itachi Uchiha (Naruto Shippuden)_

* * *

"Yorknew City?" She asked, frowning. "What on earth for?"

"Early September each year, the city holds the world's largest auction. The auction is notorious for its items, which are normally very rare and high in price." Kuroro explained. "We're basically going to check it out."

"What?" Uvo took a step forward. "We are taking the loot right? What's the point of going to-"

Kuroro raised his hand to quell the larger man, nodding understandingly. "The Mafia has yet to officially recognize our withdrawal. Several Mafia families gather at the auction both to bid and also to protect auction-goers. It's something we can take up with them there. However, since we are technically still under their jurisdiction, we're not going to do anything rash."

Uvogin groaned, highly disappointed. "So is this a mission we all need to go on?"

The Leader pondered the question for a moment, bringing his hand to his mouth. "I won't make you if you don't want to. It will be rather boring." He shifted his gaze toward the remaining Spiders, silently questioning them.

"Wait, Dancho," Pakunoda spoke up, unusually out of character. "You said the auction was an annual thing, right?"

He nodded.

"Will we be attending it every year?"

"For now, I intend to." He crossed his arms. "Any other questions?"

"Will there be any killing involved?" Feitan inquired.

"Perhaps. I'm not sure yet."

"I'm in." Franklin raised his hand.

"So am I." Aika looked at Kuroro. He nodded once.

"Ill go." Feitan relented. "Nothing better to do anyways."

"Well, I'm sitting this one out, sounds boring as hell." Uvo nearly pouted, crossing his arms.

"Machi?" Kuroro questioned. "Paku?"

"Of course I'm going." The thread user hmphed, as if offended.

"I'll do whatever you want me to do Dancho." Pakunoda offered.

"Come." He commanded. "We might need someone like you, since we're dealing with important people." He paused. "Also, we're keeping bloodshed to a minimum. No killing sprees Feitan."

"Hai." The shorter male answered promptly.

"And finally," he did a once over his Troupe. "Dress nicely. You're going to a world-renowned auction as guests. You're dismissed."

Upon their departure, Kuroro questioned: "Why do you never leave after I dismiss you?"

Aika blinked, realizing he was speaking to her. "I never feel a need to." She shrugged, answering honestly. "Would it be better if I did?"

"No." Kuroro looked at her, blinking. "Or, it doesn't really matter." He frowned.

She smirked. "Are we going shopping again?"

He sighed, quietly. "We might as well."

* * *

"_It's a nice thought to believe in a next time."  
\- Shiba Tatsuya (Mahouka Koukou no Rettousei)_

* * *

"I.D.?" The gruff voice demanded.

Each Phantom Troupe member stood behind the other, waiting in line to flash his or her forgery.

"It's weird, honestly," Nobunaga complained. "Actually going to the trouble of making fake I.D.'s. Usually we can blast our way in."

"Nobunaga, can you be a little bit louder, I don't think everybody heard you." Machi snapped at him.

He took in a deep breath, getting ready to belt out the sentence but the pink-haired female promptly socked the back of his head viciously, effectively shutting him up.

After the brief but still cumbersome struggle of actually entering auction grounds, Aika found herself to be drained already. She didn't understand how people outside of Ryuuseigai survived having to worry so much about keeping up appearances. Even walking in heels was painful and exacted every part of her focus.

"Machi, stick with Nobunaga and keep him company. I'm sure he'll behave himself." Kuroro began to dish out directions. "Franklin, you're with Feitan. Paku, you can join whichever group you want, or stay on your own." He nodded once in affirmation. "Disperse."

It went unsaid that Aika would be accompanying Kuroro.

She didn't really understand where she stood now, as far as acceptance went. Aika would have liked to believe that not every member detested her now.

Franklin had always been kind, and Feitan no longer sent death glares her way during meetings, so perhaps that was a start. Machi didn't so much as glance at her anymore, but then again, the wire-user had always been cold-hearted.

What drew this unlikely group of six or seven together was their unwavering loyalty and admiration for Kuroro Lucifer, nothing more, nothing less; and perhaps their inclination toward having a bit of extra change in their pockets.

It was counter intuitive really. What the hell did they need money and valuables for? They could just take whatever they needed without bargaining or exchanging currency. This group's primary and foremost problem, Aika came to realize, was their boredom, resulted from solitude.

They were so powerful they wound up becoming bored with their lives, and thus purposely threw themselves into situations that would yield some entertainment. Given their levels of nen, the situations had a tendency to be rather over the top however.

So honestly, why were they at this Yorknew Auction, or whatever, again?

Right. Because Kuroro wanted to go.

"Why do you always split them up?" She questioned, casting a glance his way.

The two walked side by side, exchanging casual conversation and walking up and down the lobby, exploring.

"They're conspicuous. All of them. Bright pink hair. Chinese guy in a trench coat. Man with a samurai-style ponytail. Not to mention Franklin." Kuroro answered patiently as he always did with her. "It's better to split up when we want to go unnoticed."

She had picked out a deep emerald dress this time with a golden necklace to boot. Well, she supposed that was inaccurate. _Kuroro_ had picked everything out for her, thrown it at her, and hadn't given her much of a choice.

Thank god above the man knew common sense and color combinations or Aika wasn't sure if she'd still be alive.

They found that deeper and darker colors went well with her fiery orange hair, but along the way, they also found that Aika could not walk in heels exceeding two inches.

The two learned in their journey together.

And at least he had picked out a green tie to match without being asked this time.

Aika froze suddenly, stopping mid-step. "Kuroro." She said, frowning. "You said the Mafia would be here."

He looked at her in confusion. "Yes, I did?" He blinked. "Why?"

"We put my real name on the I.D. card." She said with horror slowly dawning upon her. "Aika Brehznev. They wanted me dead not half a year ago. Remember the cleaning?"

Kuroro immediately frowned, realizing with startling clarity that this minor but very important fact had somehow slipped his mind and that with their luck, the Mafia would be upon them in no time at all.

It didn't particularly worry him, but it did irk him, given that he usually wasn't so careless. In fact, Kuroro was a meticulous person, and that shouldn't have been the mistake he made during this mission, not this one.

"What do I do?" She asked, immediately lowering her voice and allowing her bands to shadow over her eyes.

"The guards out front didn't seem to be high ranking Mafia officials, and since you're a rather large secret, we can just hope that they don't notice." Kuroro pondered. "But then again, even if they do, there's nothing really to panic over. Franklin came with us this time, and-"

"You'd kill all of these people for my neck, Kuroro?" She suddenly a large step away from him, appalled and unsure how to feel.

Kuroro Lucifer blinked several time, registering the magnitude of her question.

What on earth was the matter with him? Just a few years ago Kuroro wouldn't have hesitated a moment to throw aside anything that might have minutely jeopardized a mission.

His predecessors would roll in their graves if they saw him now.

"Listen, for now, we'll see if they notice. Keep in mind, it's been half a year." He pointed out, beginning their casual walk again. They would stick out if they were the only pair standing still in the middle of a bustling crowd. "We can address the problem when it actually arises."

Aika stared at him for a moment longer and then relented, falling into step next to him. "Let me ask you a question."

"Go ahead." He answered as they waited for the auction doors to be opened within the next half hour.

"It's been a few years right?" She asked him, brushing her hand through the several strands of hair that had escaped the bun. "Explain to me why you decided to hang around with me."

"Does it bother you?" He smirked.

"Yes, actually, it does. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing you would normally do. In fact, toward the beginning, you would have been better off without someone like me." She crossed her arms.

He looked up toward the ceiling, seeming to ponder before speaking as he so often had a tendency to do. "First and foremost, I owed you a debt."

"Funny," she almost snorted, "talking about debt and honor, coming from someone who doesn't bat an eye at mass murder."

"It is funny, isn't it?" He agreed. "I'm not sure why it works that way. I just don't like being in people's debt. Too much risk to be taken advantage of." Kuroro sighed. "But yes, I owed you a debt; otherwise, I would have been without a hand for several days." He cast a sideways glance in her direction. "Explain to me the mechanics of your power again?"

Aika rolled her eyes. "I don't really get it myself, it's just an inherent ability. I don't think I ever learned it. I don't even think it's a nen power. We found out that my parents were kind of demented didn't we?"

"Demented might be too powerful of a word," he made a face "but very likely somewhere close to that. Experimenting on their own daughter," he narrowed his eyes minutely, "does sound rather cruel. Do you have any recollection of it?"

"I don't, actually." She confessed. "But genetic mutation, was it?" She questioned herself. "I'm not sure. Actually, you might know more about me than I do. All I really understand is that I'm taking energy that's not mine."

"Not necessarily a good thing is it?"

"Not necessarily." She repeated for emphasis. "I get whatever comes along with the energy. Basically, since you had poison circulating in your system, I sucked it out of your arm along with the energy." Aika shrugged.

"And you weren't affected by it why?"

She smirked. "According to the Mafia, I am a biological weapon. I suppose I have certain antibodies, via the gracious courtesy of my wonderful parents. I haven't really been affected by common poisons for as long as I can remember."

"How convenient, especially in battles." Kuroro joked. "You can afford some extra carelessness here and there."

"I guess." Her tone turned cynical. "Convenient indeed. Anyways," she refocused. "That's basically everything, before I was interrupted. Tell me again about why you put up with me."

"Because you're endlessly intriguing." Kuroro didn't miss a beat.

"And you can never pass up a good psychological thriller." She rolled her eyes once more. "I see. Is that all?"

"Are you disappointed?"

The conversation seemed rather familiar.

She smirked again. "Not at all, though I was expecting to some degree, a sentimental value between the two of us."

He only looked at her. "I-" he started.

"-am Kuroro Lucifer," Aika mocked him. "Leader of the notorious Phantom Troupe, which strikes fear into the hearts of everyday citizens. I have no room for sentiment." She fixed him with a satirical stare. "Spare me your didactic."

Kuroro did a once over of the people around him. They all seemed far too vain and self-absorbed and none showed any indication of picking up on the proclamation.

"I hold you in special regard," He corrected, surprising her, "but sentiment might be pushing it."

It was not, in fact, pushing it. There was no other word more fit to describe the emotions Kuroro had been associating with the girl. But it was unbecoming of someone of his status and occupation to admit something like that, dangerous even, and so everyone had their own crosses to carry.

Kuroro and Aika suddenly and simultaneously felt a prick of animosity and predatory instinct from across the room. The two were smart enough to continue their façade of small talk, facial expressions relaxed. Aika focused her peripheral vision sharply and saw a well-dressed Mafioso gazing at her intensely, starting to pick his way across the crowd toward them.

"So I suppose there's someone who might have picked up on it?" Kuroro immediately dropped his voice.

"Unfortunately," she sighed as she saw the man weaving closer to them. "About 20 feet away 3 o'clock."

Soft lips suddenly captured hers.

It lasted all of ten seconds, which passed very naturally, much to her surprise. It was only afterward that her face flushed red. "Kuroro Lucifer, what the actual f-"

"Public displays of affection tend to make people uncomfortable," he explained systematically, methodically.

"That was so uncalled for!" She pushed him away by the shoulder.

"Why does it upset you so much?" He nearly laughed.

"That was," she turned around composing herself, glaring at him. "That was my first kiss."

"If it makes you feel any better, it was mine too." Kuroro confessed. "Is he still making his way over here?"

"Yes, albeit markedly more slowly." She said pointedly, feeling that her face was still warm.

"Worth a try," he smirked, shrugging, and grabbed her hand. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

"_An unforeseen situation… An unexpected turn of events... In the face of those, you too will face your true self."  
\- Makishima Shougo (Psycho-Pass)_

* * *

"We have received your desire for resignation."

"Like I said, I'm not really the person to take this up with." Nobunaga groaned. "The Dancho is better with paperwork and diplomacy than me."

"We are unable to locate Mr. Lucifer at the moment," the black-clad Mafioso explained. "We would like you deliver a message to him at your earliest convenience."

"Alright, fine." The samurai relented, feeling awfully out of place in a suit among all of these rich upper class pigs. "Explain."

"The Mafia would like to extend a final mission. Upon its completion, the Boss will formally make every effort to avoid engagement with the Phantom Troupe."

"And if we refuse?"

"I'm sure you can predict the events that may happen due to unsettled animosity. After all, we had a contract, which your leader chose to violate."

Nobu sighed heavily. "What is this final mission?"

"Assassination."

"Naturally." He snorted. "Go on."

The Mafioso handed a note in messy scrawl along with a photo to the samurai.

Nobunaga nearly dropped them in shock.

"We will expect an answer before the completion of the auction tonight." The man bowed slightly, turned around, and briskly walked away.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

"_Good morning, Espada. There has been an enemy attack. But first… let us brew some tea."  
\- Sosuke Aizen (Bleach)_

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys! :) Here comes the climax of book 1. I guess this chapter was very dialogue heavy. My writing quality's been dropping a bit lately, so i hope you'll forgive me ;^; SAT and school and such. It's long though, longer than the last few have been, so I hope you enjoy yourselves. Please please drop reviews ^.^ They make me happy. **


	12. Judas

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 12: Judas**

* * *

"_Don't forget that kindness can hurt people too."  
-Himeko Inaba (Kokoro Connect)_

* * *

Overall, the auction started with no noticeable hangovers. When the double doors swung open, the crowd had rushed in causing a scene of minor chaos, one that Aika was grateful for, since it gave them an opportunity to lose the hostile Mafioso and blend into the crowd.

It took about twenty minutes for them to get ushered to seats but at this point, the female didn't really mind. All she had to do now was spectate the auction and go home to Meteor City; she just needed to hang on for a few more hours.

"Excited?" Kuroro whispered in the few terse moments before the initiation of the bidding.

"Hardly." She kid back, crossing her arms and then her legs. "Impatient."

When it was well past time for the auction to start, the curtains drew apart and revealed the host. Aika sighed, relieved to finally start the damned thing.

It also passed uneventfully, unspectacularly. Why Kuroro had wanted to come to spectate the event, Aika had no idea. It was monotonous, boring, and she found herself nodding off more than just once.

Your typical noble pig would stand up and offer a generous amount of money for something Aika couldn't find much worth in; an ancient necklace belonging to a certain someone whose name she couldn't pronounce; several rare jewels; the mummified remains of the royalty of some faraway land.

Yet her chest clenched painfully when she realized one item that was rolled out to be displayed proudly atop the dais. Within in large cylindrical tube were suspended two, rather small, spherical object, glowing crimson, bright and eerily in the dim light of the auction hall.

The Kuruta's Scarlet Eyes she herself has helped to harvest.

They were quickly bought at a jaw-dropping number and when they were rolled off stage, the female found the tension to finally start seeping from her body.

Next to her, her leader was idly tapping away no his mobile device, an expression of worry settling comfortably on his face. "Aika, I'll be right back." He whispered then, sitting up and low in his seat.

The female opened her mouth to argue, question where on earth he could be going at this point in time, but the leader was already gone, outline of his form blurring. She hmphed and crossed her arms again, sitting back against her chair.

The auction continued on for a good half-hour more, all the while Aika absent-minded chewing on the inside of her lip. It was unnerving, she realized, being without Kuroro by her side, incase someone recognized her.

Not that she was scared -she knew she could take on any ordinary Mafioso; she was just mildly concerned.

A murmur suddenly rippled through the crowd. Aika caught sight of a short woman with shockingly bright fuchsia hair climb the steps to the stage and face the crowd.

_Machi_..? Her eyes widened in horror, specifically recalling Kuroro's orders to lay low throughout the duration of the auction.

"Miss?" The host smiled politely. "What seems to be the matter? If you're lost, an usher at the back of the auditorium will gladly guide you-"

Coldly, Machi turned around to fix him with a piercing glare and calmly proceeded to drive a needle clear through his forehead, perfectly centered.

It took the host a good three or four seconds to freeze and fall to the ground.

"Oh my fucking-" Aika stood up, angry and confused.

Then the screaming commenced. Machi had set off a stampede.

Franklin stood up at that point as well, preparing, setting, and then beginning to fire off rounds of nen bullets from his hands.

Upon instinct, the training Aika had done with Kuroro kicked in and she immediately allowed her nen to cover her in a protective envelope.

The bullets hit her nen shield and ricocheted off, harmless but not without considerable impact. The orangette recoiled and looked around her immediately for an exit.

Why her little Troupe neglected to fill her in on this little piece of intel was beyond her, but there was no way she was going to go on a mass killing spree unless Kuroro himself ordered it.

On the subject of the raven-haired leader, where exactly had he run off to?

Seeing as the doorways were totally backed up by panicked auction-goers, Aika tsked and fell part of the wall right next to it, successfully an exit. Aware spectators flooded the orifice immediately.

Finally out in the fresh night air, Aika rapidly took in her surroundings. Loud crashes and noises came from within the auction hall and sleek black cars—ostensibly belonging to the Mafia families that were given the job of protecting the people—raced toward the building behind her. It had already caught fire.

Aika frowned.

Within the span of several seconds back in the auditorium, she had seen Franklin, Machi, and Feitan wreaking mass havoc. Paku and Nobunaga had been nowhere to be found, and so had her good-for-nothing leader.

Well now that they had specifically done exactly what Kuroro had told them _not_ to do…

"Aika!"

She turned around immediately, wary of leaving her back open to anyone at this point in time.

Well speak of the devil.

"Nobunaga." She responded, crossing her arms. "What's going on?"

"Hell if I know," the samurai seemed extremely exasperated, "we got an assassination order from the Mafia, but this seems a bit over th-"

"We what?!" She cut him off, taken aback. "We weren't supposed to be taking any more missions from them!"

"It was a final mission kind of thing," he explained, motioning for her to calm down. "They said if we finished this mission they'd leave us alone, no strings attached."

"No strings attached, this is the _Italian Mafioso_ we're talking about, what the hell was Kuroro thinking?"

"They gave it to me first, but I didn't look into it in depth. I sent a picture to Kuroro and then I shredded it. It was a lot of text."

Aika shot him a pointed look. "Well unless it was to completely decimate the auction hall and every one in it, I think our high and mighty Dancho might have royally fucked up?"

"I'm sure he has his reasons, like he normally does."

Aika wasn't so sure. The last encounter at the Zoldyck mansion had left her reeling for a good week, and she remembered the worried look Kuroro had on his face—not that it was much different from the stoic expression he wore around all the time—and felt her own worry spike drastically.

"Where is he now?" She questioned.

"He said he'd call me in a few-"

His phone went off.

"Dancho!" Nobunaga answered, obviously just as irritated as her. "Where are-" The samurai felt a tic form on his forehead; everyone seemed to be cutting him off today. "Here," he frowned and handed Aika the phone. "He wants you."

"Kuroro fucking Lucifer, explain yourself right now."

Aika could almost hear the telltale smirk that Kuroro was undoubtedly wearing. "Patience." He sighed. "We've received an assassination order."

"For?"

"A certain nobleman. We need to meet up."

"And the rest of your psychotic Spiders?"

"Can fend for themselves." He finished her sentence. "I'm behind the auction hall near the vending machine we passed on our way in. Do you remember?"

"Yeah." Aika blinked. "Give me five minutes."

The dial tone hung heavy in the air immediately after their conversation.

Tersely, Aika flipped Nobunaga's phone shut and handed it to him.

"What's going on?" He asked her.

"Hell if I know." She snorted. "He didn't even give me any orders."

"What do I do then?"

"Figure it out!" She snapped and then took off, speeding quickly toward the vending machine Kuroro had mentioned before.

_It was strange, very very strange…_

She had said five minutes, but honestly she had only needed fifteen seconds to reach the rendezvous point.

"Wait, please, how much do y-"

Aika sped around to corner only flinch backward immediately, the all-too-familiar stench of blood heavy in the air.

An unfortunate Mafioso had just had his throat slit, cutting off his offer for money in exchange for his life. He slid to the ground, no longer breathing.

"Aika." Kuroro called, catching her attention.

The girl crossed her arms, biting the inside of her lips, contemplating. "Well, you said a _certain _nobleman if I'm not mistaken, and that typically implies _one_ person…"

The grass behind the auditorium was littered with bodies.

"Irrelevant." Kuroro shrugged it off. "The Mafia gave the okay to use whatever means necessary."

"And capriciously picking off anyone who suits your whim is within that jurisdiction?" She frowned.

"We've gone over this Aika." He sighed. "You can leave any time you want."

Her fury flared. "Just give the damn orders Dancho."

"Follow me."

"Not what I was looking for, but alright." She shrugged.

"There are too many people here. We're not detectives." Kuroro shrugged.

"So you're going to kill everyone." She narrowed her eyes. "This is sloppy, lazy, and unlike you Kuroro."

"We are not assassins." He commented. "We are an unruly band of bandits and it's time the Mafia learned that."

"Why did we need to meet up?" Aika unintentionally raised her voice. "You could have just as easily transferred this information via text."

"Lately I've been thinking," he was leading them farther and farther away from the auction hall, much to her confusion, "I'm not in my right mind."

Aika couldn't agree more. The strange debacle at the Zoldyck manor could attest to as much; he'd also been more open with his feelings, very out of character for the leader of the Brigade.

"We have a mission!"

"And I've come to a peculiar decision regarding this thought." Kuroro went on, disregarding her outburst.

"Kuroro!"

"Have you ever read Scripture before Aika?"

The girl inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The fact I believe in God doesn't mean I am a zealous fanatic; no, Kuroro, I have_ not_ the freaking Bible, _screw your head on straight will you_?!"

"There is much debate over the validity of the book of Matthew."

Aika opted simply to listen now, seething in her own frustration, anger she was feeling for the innocently slaughtered.

"And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee," he recited, "for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish."

She frowned.

"And not that thy whole body should be cast into Hell," he finished.

"Your point?"

"Pakunoda."

Aika felt confusion swarm her once again, catching sight of the aquiline-nosed woman several feet farther back. Why she had failed to register her presence could have been explained by Aika's anger, but now she had a gun pointed straight to her.

The orange-haired girl flared her nen more than it already had been, refusing the bullet.

"Aika," the woman called out. "It's me. Have some faith."

Of course it was her; Aika knew about Pakunoda's nen ability, her Recollection Bullet, but it was still a bullet, one that she had yet to experience. Kuroro's erratic behavior hardly helped at all.

Five seconds of tense silence passed agonizingly slowly, and Aika cautiously withdrew her nen back into her. "Fine." She relented, taking a deep breath. "Shoot."

Pakunoda didn't need to prompted twice, firing immediately. The bullet entered perfectly on it mark, in this middle of her forehead and the impact jolted Aika backward a bit.

She gasped as memories began to flow into her consciousness with such force she thought she was coming apart at the seams.

_She saw a photograph of a certain aged man, glasses atop his nose with grayed hair. He had a cold gaze, clad in a black suit. Beneath the photograph was a note: We leave matters regarding the biological weapon in your hands._

_She saw Kuroro pacing uneasily outside the auction hall; him, pacing. _

_He opened his mouth to look straight at Pakunoda. "What do you think I should do?" _

"_You're the boss for a reason."_

"_A flawed one at that." He seemed aggravated_

"_You said it yourself. Our goal is not to keep the individual alive, but the Spider."_

"_You're telling me to kill her." He turned his back to her._

"_Dancho, the choice is yours to make." _

_She saw him send Pakunoda away and give the order to start the chaos. _

_She saw a coldness come over his eyes, she saw him begin the catharsis known as mass murder. She saw his pain._

She lurched as she regained her bearings, finding that Paku was no longer anywhere to be found.

"Aika." Kuroro called again, much like the last time, but with more force.

The girl blinked, shock slamming into her as she realized her situation.

"You endanger me." He sighed. "You compromise my thought process, and thus, you endanger the Spider. Our mission, our assassination of this certain nobleman has already been fulfilled."

She took a step backwards, for the first time in a long time, fearing for her life.

"You would do this, after the three years that we-" Aika started, voice shaking with anger; she felt an incredible sense of betrayal inundate her, drowning, cutting off her air.

Pain entered her body, omnipresent throughout her, suddenly. It hurt so much that the tears began to flow, tears of pain mixed with tears of fury and tears of incredible sadness.

"You bastard!" She choked out, realizing that she needed to lash back out at him, but realizing that she had no intention of every hurting him.

"Aika." He breathed again, close to her as he drove something sharp into her.

Her vision was blacking out, blurring and then coming back into focus, then blurring again.

"Kuroro!" She gasped.

"Thank you, for being my right hand when I need it."

**END BOOK 1**

* * *

"_I'm not scared per say. I think it's accurate to say I'm not looking forward to the pain that will accompany it."  
\- Aika Brehznev (Eat Your Heart Out)_

* * *

**A/N: Read and review! ^.^**


	13. The Crosses They Carried

**Book 2: Malum (Misfortune)**

**Chapter 13: The Crosses They Carried**

* * *

**FOUR YEARS LATER**

"Get off your ass girl, there are some new ruins I want to check out."

The insult was met only by an exasperated sigh and a hiss. "For god's sake don't be so rude Ging. It's like two-hundred degrees out here."

"It's a _desert_, what were you expecting?"

"It's still hot!"

A twenty-one year old female got to her feet and crossed her arms, perpetual scowl scrawled across her expression as usual.

"I'm ten years older than you, I'm sure you can manage, Rita!"

She figured she should cut her hair soon; it was getting long and unruly, flaming orange blending nicely with light brunette roots. Perhaps the ends had been dyed at one point?

"I'm wearing all black too, let's rest for a moment, okay?"

"For the love of god, I'm leaving without you if you don't get up!"

"Fine, fine, you're so damn pushy!" The girl stood up and jogged a bit to catch up to him. "Geez, Ging, how do you deal with this?"

"I don't." He answered coldly. "It's not something I have to _deal with_, since I enjoy it, though I'm sure the concept it entirely foreign to someone like you."

She huffed, frowning. "Alright be rude if you insist."

Ging sighed, looking up at the blazing sun and questioning why he ever took the girl under his wing the first place. It wasn't like he was ever lonely; he preferred avoiding human contact if possible, really. It's just that the massacre at the Yorknew Auction had been really bloody and the girl had been impaled up against a tree for god's sake.

"Hey, Rita."

He was met with silence. Confused, Ging looked at her only to find that the female was intent on giving him the silent treatment.

"You little-!" He frowned, putting his hands in his pockets. "Respect your elders for a change why don't you, you little twerp!"

"You act like you're twelve half the time, you're one to talk!" She fired back. "What do you want?"

Ging pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you still not remember anything? It's been like a year."

"Six months," she corrected him immediately, amused. "And no, I don't. Honestly at this point, I don't care if I remember or not. I'm fine with living like this."

"Yeah, well I might not be." He muttered under his breath.

God knows how she was still alive. There was too much blood to even fathom, and she shouldn't have lost so much and been able to survive.

It had been a short, straight sword, driven cleanly and swiftly into her left lower abdomen, successfully pinning her to the bark of the tree behind her. Whoever had done it had been proficient in their swordsmanship and had also been thoughtful enough to pin the back of her dress to the tree so she didn't double over and drown in her own blood.

The situation as bizarre in and of itself, but really, the only perpetrators at that auction had been the Phantom Brigade; why they would have gone out of their way to kill the girl in such a peculiar way was beyond his comprehension.

"And also," she crossed her arms. "Why do you call me by that name? Rita?"

"Why do you respond to it?" Ging questioned.

"Shut up." She mumbled. "How much farther do we have to go?"

"A few miles, maybe more." The male shrugged. "I don't know, I just know where it is."

"Why do I stick with you?" She lamented

"Why do you?" He questioned right back.

For someone who had been stricken with an incurable bout of amnesia, the girl was incredibly talented. She seemed to know nen inherently and she also had a non-nen related power, one he had never seen before; it was creepy as hell, but useful, he would admit.

And such was their loosely labeled relationship, filled with biting sarcasm and constant bickering. Neither felt much loyalty toward the other, only found slight solace in mutually –but barely—bearable company.

But given the short time they had spent together, Ging never felt completely at ease around her. A strange nen clung to her like a curse, thick and difficult to disperse. This girl was not herself, Ging knew that much.

* * *

Nearly 20,000 kilometers away, Kuroro Lucifer blinked twice, eyes adjusting to the moonlight of the night. He sighed, putting down his works of Leo Tolstoy; he had been reading by light of the kerosene lamp, finding that the rain pouring down hard outside made the meager flame flicker more than he would have liked.

He despised the rain, though it was something he would never say. It made everything damp and humid and miserable, and most of all, his numerous scars ached fiercely.

"Something wrong Dancho?" The samurai asked from across the spacious building.

"No, Nobunaga." He closed his book, relenting to the fact that he would get no substantial reading accomplished tonight. The gash on his left arm pulsated, on and off and on again, in time with the steady thrum of the sheets hitting the roof. "Nothing's wrong."

He remembered the day he first met her; it must have been a good seven years ago. It had been four since he had last seen her, and fool, he had spent a good three before that becoming attached to her.

_"You shouldn't do that." She had said, crawling out from behind her alleyway as he prepared to dismember his poisoned forearm. _

_He had relaxed his posture, amused by this street orphan's boldness. "Enlighten me." He smiled._

_Without a word she had scuttled over toward him._

_Kuroro had resisted the urge to jerk his arm back when she put her small hands on it. He watched her cautiously, eyes narrowing slightly as they took in her appearance._

_She had been short then, and in surprisingly good shape for a street orphan. Her hair, originally brunette, had been lightened slightly by the scorching sun, and it was long, but slightly unruly; nor orange as he would normally remember her, but still her. She wouldn't turn her eyes toward him._

_"What are you doing?" He would ask._

_"I don't know," would come the response._

And true, who ever really knew what they were doing nowadays?

Farther hidden in the shadows, Machi watched him with a frown in her expression. _For how long will you cling to her ghost?_

Kuroro stood up, unbuttoning the sleeves of his white flannel and rolling them down. The darkness had a tendency to make things cold and without the fire and passion he used to have by his side, it had become a bit more daunting to face alone, though for the life of him, he couldn't remember when it had started.

"Have any of you read the news recently?" Kuroro asked into the blackness.

"They've discovered the Ruins of the rumored city of Akasha." Shalnark remarked, recalling the interesting broadcast.

Their leader nodded his head, donning his black trench coat with the St. Peter's Cross. "Correct, the Ruins of Akasha have been found in the outer outskirts of the Minbo Republic."

"That dingy place?" Nobunaga asked.

"Oh please, it's not like you could locate the damn thing on a map." Machi shot him a glare. "Keep your trap shut until Dancho has finished explaining."

Nobunaga opened his mouth to start shouting but found it roughly covered by an enormous hand.

"Now, now, Nobu," Uvogin frowned. "No fighting within the Troupe, especially not in the middle of orders."

Kuroro watched the spectacle, as always slightly entranced by this display of open friendship and trust. He supposed he had something like it too, a while ago, but…

He cleared his throat. "At any rate, some valuable treasures are rumored to be there, especially the remains of some famous emperor and a city of gold, if you're into that kind of stuff. I wouldn't mind checking it out, but it would require some extensive travelling."

"I'm in!" Uvogin raised his arm, simultaneously downing the rest of his beer. "Sounds like an adventure!"

Uvogin, Kuroro realized, might have been the largest member of their group in terms of physique, and by far possessed the most physical strength, but he was also the most childish. The man was straight-forward, and agonizingly honest.

"Me too!" Shalnark exclaimed. "Sounds like a great opportunity."

"Well count me out." Feitan said. "Doesn't seem all that great."

In the end, Feitan and Franklin were the only two that didn't wind up tagging along, and that was because Franklin didn't want Feitan to be the only one being left behind, though it wasn't like he really cared all that much.

The new members of the Troupe were fulfilling their purpose well, Kuroro decided, and for now –and hopefully for a long time longer—that was all he really wanted.

* * *

"This place is fucking creepy." Rita commented, looking around warily.

"You know what else is fucking creepy?" Ging asked as he carefully side-stepped the amalgamation of cobwebs that had accumulated over centuries of dust and pristine conditions. "You."

"Well you're fucking rude." Rita frowned; she figured she must say the sentence fifteen times a day, given how crude Ging's sense of humor could be.

"Show some reverence for the ruins of what used to be the grandest city of its time!" Ging put his hands in his pockets and began to walk around, scope the catacombs. "We're lucky we found the damn place, we'd been searching for god knows how long."

"I can't even pronounce its name." The female scoffed, sitting down on a large, nearby rock, crossing her legs.

"A-ka-sha!" The two-star Hunter said pointedly. "Akasha! It finds its roots in several ancient religions, many of which still exist today, including Buddhism, Jainism, and Hinduism. Akasha is known as the fifth fundamental elements and represents balance and peace, also called 'center.' It may also refer to atmosphere, hinting at its omnipresence, also called the aether. Rumor had it there was an ancient civilization based off of this ideology, which is what I hope to prove to be true today."

Ging snuck a glance at the twenty-one year old. Interestingly enough, the girl was beyond ill-mannered when Ging went off about things one would normally find interesting. Things concerning petty theft occurring around, the world, who was where at what time, things of that sort; but the girl went quiet when he launched into intellectual material concerning philosophy, fine literature, and surprisingly, knowledge regarding even his works of excavation.

"Akasha," she repeated. "Akasha." Then she frowned. "Sounds vaguely familiar."

"You may have read about it somewhere. It's not classified information or anything."

Rita smirked. "Yeah, maybe I read about it. What are you looking for Ging?"

"Akasha was allegedly a city of treasures and gold, so basically-"

"Money," Rita deadpanned, turning her head in disapproval. "Of course. Men." She tsked. "How long will we be in this place?"

"I don't know, stop asking so many questions, will you?" The Hunter groaned. "Until I get everything in order and make preparations in order to have it properly conserved!"

"It was only an inquiry."

"Like every other thing that comes out of your mouth."

"Should we be expecting anyone?"

"There you go again!"

"Ging!"

He sighed. "I suppose. It's an enormous discovery so reporters and people of the like should be flocking here in perhaps 24 hours' time. But the Hunter Department should be able to hold back the majority of them. Only special people with special identification or position will be allowed in here."

"There's always the possibility of brute force."

"Only idiots would do that." Ging laughed. "Idiots that don't realize the beauty of these artifacts."

Rita stared at him for a moment. For someone so miserly, irritable, and carefree, Ging was surprisingly passionate about his excavation and preservation work. The girl narrowed her eyes, seeming to recall this envy of watching people with a certain zeal, this envy in which she wished she could display the same passion…

"What are you looking at, brat?"

"I'm twenty-one Ging." She laughed. "You can't call me that anymore."

* * *

"We'll be landing in the Minbo Republic shortly." Kuroro announced.

The other members of the Troupe nodded their heads once, swiftly.

"Take what you want, try to minimize meaningless slaughter and," he smirked. "Don't damage your surroundings too much. There are eons of history in these ruins."

He looked to the starry night sky. Here in the rural countryside region where sprawling civilization had yet to contaminate, they were so numerous, so bright.

"Paku," he breathed. "Start lowering the hot air balloon will you?"

The woman wordlessly assented.

Ten minutes later found the band of thieves safely landed on the ground stretching and prepping. Kuroro carried only a single book with him; it was all he really needed.

"We meet back here just prior to sunset." He set the rendezvous time. "Or earlier if need be," he smirked, "though I doubt that will be a possibility." When he was met with affirmation, Kuroro nodded once: "Disperse."

Like shadows, comfortable in their surroundings, the Spiders stole through the night.

An enormous crash reverberated through the catacombs.

"Twenty-four hours my ass," Rita scoffed, "it's barely been twenty-four minutes."

The two-star Hunter raised his hand to his mouth, worry creasing his brow. "Who on earth could have gotten here so fast?"

"I believe the real question is who is idiotic enough to try to bust into here?"

"Probably someone Hunter-level." Ging considered. "Maybe higher. Anyways, brace yourself for a fight."

"Who said I was going to help defend your precious ruins?" Rita suddenly found her nails to be absolutely captivating.

"Your conscience." He deadpanned. "Now get on your feet and lend me a hand."

She laughed. "You're right. Alright," she dusted herself off and started rolling her shoulder-blades.

"What I don't understand is how you fight in that outfit." Ging eyed her disapprovingly.

Rita found it slightly preposterous that his precious artifacts were about to be obliterated, and yet the old man found time and focus to rank on her choice of clothes.

"Hop off will you?" She crossed her arms. "I like the black."

"Well I wasn't referring to the color, but alright."

She didn't find anything particularly wrong about it. It clung to her like a second skin—and maybe, just maybe it Ging could hate on how tight it was—but that was the point; minimizing wind-resistance and this maximizing speed and power.

Other than that, it covered every part of her; unlike haughty men, Rita didn't like showing off her battle wounds.

Another ear-shattering boom split the air.

_Hurry up and get here already, I'm irritated and I haven't been able to punch anything in weeks. _

The west wall suddenly fell in on itself and a cloud of dust obscured her vision. Rita heard vague coughing coming from Ging as well, as they waited for the blasted dirt to clear.

A silhouette suddenly became visible through the cloud of brown dust, clad in all black just like her.

The figure was carrying a book under his left arm and had across on his forehead; he seemed pale, almost to the point where anemia could have been a valid inquiry to make.

"Now where was the treasure room again…?" The figure mumbled, pulling out his phone and staring at it curiously.

Rita clenched her fists and flared her aura in order to catch his attention.

The black-clad figure whipped around to face her, demonstrating his terrifying speed, but...

The girl sneered.

Baring down on him was now an enormous wall of red-hot flames.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**A/N: Holy crap, a double update! Am I even me? I've never written so much in one day, I am so exhausted. -_- I hope this new beginning is to your liking! As you can see, there was been a time skip, and our heroine as suffered memory loss! Get used to the name Rita! Please read and review, and if there's anything confusing at all, please mention it! I banged these last two chapters out in one day so it will probably seem incredibly rushed! Also, I think for this chapter only, I'll skimp out on the quotes! Haha, it's 2:20ish in the morning right now, so please cut me some slack! Again, thanks again for your recent support! See you guys soon!**


	14. A Farewell to Arms

**Book 2: Malum **

**Chapter 14: A Farewell to Arms**

* * *

"_We can't live if we don't keep running forward."  
\- Natsu Dragneel (Fairy Tail)_

* * *

Kuroro Lucifer did not like the sight of fire. Unfortunately, ironically, he had undergone the fabulous process of self-discovery in past recent years, and this was an epiphany the Phantom Troupe Leader had realized: he did not get attached often but it had a tendency to be powerful when he did.

He _loathed_ the sight of fire.

So instead of calmly summoning a water-based nen move from his book to quench the wall-of fire bearing down on him as like should have, he coated himself thickly in his nen and took the force of the attack at point-blank.

It was scorching, but the licking flames could not burn him.

Slowly, the pale man closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of ash.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Devil himself." Someone said, an obviously male voice.

When the fire had eaten itself up, the scene cleared enough for the three people to get a good look at their opponents.

"Rita, don't go around blasting your dumb fire everywhere, you'll ruin everything!"

"Stop fussing," the female replied snarkily.

Kuroro observed the scene before him for a few moments and then swiftly turned around again, concluding that this chamber was not, indeed, the treasure room, and thus he had no business being there.

"Hold on a second you-!"

"Rita, wait! Don't attack him recklessly!"

Another wave of fire was unleashed, red and furious.

Kuroro decided to react the same way; stoically, of course, and without extravagance. Again, he was enveloped in extreme heat as it passed by him.

"How is he _doing that_?"

They were getting rather annoying. If the pair was going to hinder the process of looting the place, Kuroro debated whether getting rid of them was warranted.

"Stop shooting at him, you'll make him angry!"

"Ging Freeccs." Kuroro sighed, turning around to look him in the eye. "Please contain your disciple, lest she disturb the pristine beauty of Akasha's great legacy."

"Chrollo Lucifer." The two-star Hunter allowed the foreign name to roll off his tongue smoothly. "Isn't that exactly what you're here to do?

"I'm here for the valuables." He corrected him. "We won't touch any of your treasured walls or paintings."

It was at that exact moment that a huge bang sounded through the cavern, and the leader closed his eyes. "We'll _try _not to touch any of them." He corrected himself.

"How strange." Ging snorted. "Strange, given that your Spiders live for the sake of causing a ruckus."

Kuroro Lucifer hmphed and sped from the room, back from whence he came, leaving after-images in his wake.

"Tch." Ging spat, glaring after the man for a few seconds more before assuming a slightly more relaxed pose, taking a deep breath and allowing his shoulders to lower. "Why's that trash always showing up everywhere?"

"He's the Phantom Troupe head isn't he?" The girl asked in an uninterested tone of voice. "You probably could have taken him out in a fight, right? Why'd you let him go?"

"Are you an idiot?" He barked back. "And risk destroying everything in the process? Not even he's worth that much."

Rita simply shrugged.

"And don't go around firing your power off like that. Honestly, it's reckless."

"_Yes mother_." She rolled her shoulders. "I'm going to go get some fresh air, if you'll excuse me."

"No, you'll stay." Ging interrupted. "The entire Troupe is roaming around the place; what the hell do you mean you're going out? Just because he wasn't interested in us doesn't mean the rest of them won't be."

"Maybe if you _did_ something about it," she half hissed, "I could go enjoy myself comfortably."

"I like my head attached to my neck thank you very much, now sit down Rita."

"Aw, Ging's worried about me." She mocked, walking toward the exit. "It doesn't really matter if I die anyways right? I'm your traveling companion, nothing more nothing less."

The two-star Hunter frowned and crossed his arms. "Be careful."

"I'll be fine, you doting mother hen." She waved. And then she was gone.

* * *

"_A half moon. A bright half and dark half. Just like me."  
\- Gasai Yuno (Mirai Mikki)_

* * *

"It's been a while, Rita."

The girl locked her jaw and huffed, breath visible in the freezing desert night. The temperature tended to shoot up and down, and seemed to know no middle ground. "Pariston." She greeted coldly.

"Enjoying your time with the best Two-Star Hunter in the world?"

"Hardly." She said, not missing a beat. "Why did you call me out?"

The new moon offered no solace in the endless darkness of the desert and Rita could barely see the always-present, nearly unnatural smile the Vice-President always wore, much less the rest of him.

"I just wanted to tell you that the East Gorteau President really enjoyed his time with you darling." Pariston said with a flourish. "Wonderful, he said."

"I'm flattered," she replied sourly, "though I must ask him to understand when I can't say the same for him."

"Thank you so much for your cooperation Rita, it really does help in dealing with especially difficult countries and-"

"Get to the point." She sighed. "Ging's expecting me."

The girl flinched when Pariston closed his eyes and smiled wider, shooting his nen toward her. "Learn your place first," he commented, drawing it back just before it collided with hers.

She growled slightly, barely audible over the whipping wind.

"Stay with the Boar for awhile longer." The Vice-President suddenly turned far too pleasant. "The Phantom Troupe has been becoming bolder as of late and I can think of no place safer for you than with Ging Freeccs."

Rita tsked. The girl knew that the group of bandits had something to do with her being pinned up against a tree that night at the York New Auction, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out how exactly they fit into the picture. The memories were all fuzzy, hazy, blinded by overpowering pain; for the time being, she had to go off of Pariston's story.

A biological weapon, created in a lab and utilized for the sake of Mafia; sold at the auction for a high price; stolen by the ever greedy Twelve-Legged Spider and disposed of immediately when discovered as unstable and disobedient.

"Getting attached to the old man?" Pariston poked fun at her, taunting.

"Not in the slightest," she answered forcefully.

"Good." He nodded. "You are an object to be used, nothing more." He opened his eyes, smile dissipating. "You have no use for attachments and tethers, sweet Rita." Then his persona enveloped him again completely. "Run along, dear. The Boar is wondering where you've gone."

A powerful gust of wind and sand picked up and Rita lifted her arms to shield her eyes and face; when the gale had passed, so had the phenomenon of the Three-Star Hunter.

* * *

"_Ignorance is a sin."  
\- Unknown_

* * *

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Just me and my low blood pressure." She shrugged, flopping down on the ground and pulling a book out of her side-sling bag. _A Farewell to Arms_, by Hemingway. "Nothing to worry about."

"You have strange nen clinging to you Rita."

She groaned. "Ging, it was probably a Phantom Troupe member, alright? And what nen?" The girl used gyo to do a once-over of herself. "There is no foreign nen!"

"I know there isn't but I can feel it." The Two-Star Hunter tsked. "Be more careful. I guess it isn't just us here after all."

"Get on with your excavation will you?" She opted to lie down. "It's boring in here!"

"I think the Troupe is starting to clear out." He answered. "We'll be done within-three days' time."

The girl decided to ditch reading. She opened the novel to a page and put it down over her face. "Geez, wake me when you're done."

* * *

"_I'd rather trust and regret than doubt and regret."  
\- Kirizaya Kazuto (Sword Art Online)_

* * *

"Is everyone back?" Kuroro asked, eyes never leaving Hemingway's words.

"Almost." Shalnark answered. "For now, it's only Nobunaga that's missing."

Uvogin looked like he was going to blow his top off. Everyone knew how he was a stickler for times, especially when it came to rendezvous and…

"_Maybe…you'll fall in love with me all over again."_

"_Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?"_

"_Yes. I want to ruin you."_

"_Good," I said. "That's what I want too.__"_

Kuroro sighed quietly and flipped his book shut. Rather than Dickens, he supposed Hemingway was more masterful with his diction.

Nobunaga came bounding along a good 30 seconds later, gleeful as could be. When they all boarded their hot air balloon, they took off. As promised, most of them had refrained from blowing the place to pieces and kept the bloodshed to a minimum.

Coltopi had done them a favor and left them with copies for a good 24 hours.

After the Spiders had reached their hideout, Kuroro dismissed them, congratulating them on a job well done.

"Pakunoda," he called before she left the dilapidated building. "Remind me again, why I did it."

Alone now, as all of the rest of them had left, she sighed before answering. "Boss," she said, tone disapproving. "You did it for the sake of the Spider, the same reason why you do anything else."

"I saw a girl today." He confessed. "Same eyes, same hair color. It looked like she had grown her hair out, the roots were brown and the tips orange. She used fire. But her name was Rita."

The information handler frowned, turning her body to face him. "You drove an acinaces through her stomach, Dancho, it was not her."

"If she was alive today, that's exactly what she would have looked like."

"Your work is flawless."

"But my inner workings are not."

"… Do you regret it?"

"I regret the things I didn't do more than the things I did."

"This is unlike you, speaking about your feelings."

_Tell me it was the right thing to do_.

He paused. "You're dismissed." He relented and closed his eyes, tossed _A Farewell to Arms_ into the farthest corners of the hideout and brought his clasped hands to his face.

It wasn't her. She's gone, six feet under, because of your weakness.

Sighing again, he got up and picked up the book, flipping the open to the page he had left off on; he resumed reading.

* * *

"_But I think I want to live with all of my memories, even if they're bad memories."  
\- Sohma Momiji (Fruits Basket)_

* * *

_A young girl with short, orange hair starts awake, realizing that she has fallen asleep in the alleyway again and that someone is sitting on the opposite side of the alley across from her._

_"You look so peaceful when you sleep."_

_The girl finds herself getting to her feet immediately, surprised and taken aback._

_"You're… smoking?" She asks._

_"I figured it's something I needed to try sometime." A tired-looking man shrugs, inhaling deeply and then blowing out smoke. "It's fucking gross."_

_He is a wreck, as bad as her, actually. His hair is knotted slightly and he wears slacks and a plain white crew neck shirt._

_"Since when did you curse?" The girl then shook her head, as if to dispel the question. "Since when did you spend your time drowning yourself in cigarette smoke?"_

_"Since three days ago. Do you want one?"_

_"What's wrong with you?!" She shouts all of a sudden. "You don't talk to me for a week and then come crawling back in this unsightly form?!"_

_"Pawn to C2." He breaths, closing his eyes, blowing out more smoke._

_She starts crying._

* * *

"_Nothing that happens is ever forgotten, even if you can't remember it."  
-Zeniba (Spirited Away)_

* * *

"Rita!"

The girl convulsed on the floor for a split second, overcome by sensation of her falling, and then her eyes flew open, gasping.

"Goddammit Ging I just lost ten years of my fucking life!" She scrambled away, heart rate shot through the roof.

"You were tossing around and crying in your sleep, what was I supposed to do?" He retorted.

Rita blinked, confused. Her? Moving around in her sleep? That couldn't be. She was a shallow sleeper, conditioned to stay stone-still lest her movement attract unwanted attention; it was a defense mechanism she had been born with.

Much to her surprise, she realized he was right. Her face was wet with tears, and she tried to blinking them away in bafflement.

"What were you dreaming about?"

She pondered for a moment, recalling, wiping her face.

"It was… I was in some junkyard city, I think." A splitting headache suddenly seared its way through her skull. She winced. "It was raining. Ging, do you know what chess is?"

The Two-Star Hunter frowned. "It's an obsolete game, one that Chairman Netero likes to play. I don't know the rules. Why?"

"I need to find a chess board, Ging."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

"_We must demonstrate the we took action, even if that action was meaningless."  
\- Watashi (Jinrui Wa Suitai Shimashita)_

* * *

**A/N: Hey ^.^ So this chapter is a rather short one, I hope you'll forgive me. I'm trying to update as fast as I can because my break ends tomorrow (*cry*) and I'll have less time to write. What do you guys think so far? I'm happy with all the positive feedback so far :3 If there's anything that I can actually work on, don't hesitate to tell me! And hey, the quotes are back, woo~ I might reuse one by mistake but for now, I'll try to keep them all original. Please read and review for m! Thank you! :D**


	15. Luck of the Draw

**Book 2: Malum**

**Chapter 15: Luck of the Draw**

* * *

"_Say please before asking for favor."  
-Inuyasha (Inuyasha)_

* * *

"Rita, have you ever thought about taking the Hunter Examination?"

The girl blinked, casting Ging a sideways look.

"Well why on earth would I do that?"

The Two-Star proceeded to give her a funny look. "Hunters are probably the most respected people in the world today. They get access to a certain degree of classified information and receive transportation for free and-"

"Spare me," she groaned, closing her eyes and frowning. "You know I can't think in this heat."

"For someone with abilities that will rival mine in a few years, you're awfully sensitive to the weather of all things."

"I just don't understand why all of your dumb ruins are always isolated in some dumb desert." She tsked. "And besides, Hunters aren't all that great. They just have a piece of plastic that says they've passed a test."

"It's great entertainment." He said, throwing it out there. "It might even be a challenge. Also, my ruins aren't dumb."

Rita was mildly offended. "You're all the entertainment I need Ging; besides, you try me every day. I'm satisfied the way I am for now."

Ging seriously doubted the validity of the statement; after all, how could someone be satisfied after forgetting seventeen years of his or her entire life?

"Hey," she breathed, looking up to the blazing sun as the two trekked across the vast expanse of billowing sand. "Ging."

"Eh?"

"Why do you stick with me?" The girl questioned.

He cleared his throat. "The correct question would be why do_ you_ stick with _me_," she shot him a pointed look; he went on. "But in all honesty, it's because you can't be of significant detriment to me."

"That's it?" She frowned. "Just because I can't hurt you?"

The Two-Star Hunter snorted, resorting back to his cynicism. "What were you expecting you spoiled brat, you're ten years younger than me and without a memory." He cast a sideways glance at her. "Disappointed?"

"Hardly." She hmphed. A pause. "You could have at least lied; proper manners and all."

"Sorry, I don't like indulging people." He sighed. "But really, the Hunter Exam-"

"Is a waste of my energy." She rolled her eyes, finishing his sentence for him. "I could just as easily get anywhere I want to go, so long as I tag along with you, and I can fend for myself just as well." She crossed her arms. "I don't want to spend a week going through some tedious trial just to get a piece of plastic."

"Rita." Ging frowned all, of a sudden very serious.

The conversations had a tendency to wander wildly from place to place throughout the duration of the two's travels; since all they could really do was walk and trek, the only source of amusement and avoidance from insanity was via mere small talk. So their topic varied, going from one end of the spectrum to the other.

"There's this kid," he scratched the back of his neck. "His name is Gon."

"Is he related to you?" She asked. She stared at him for a moment longer and narrowed her eyes. "He's your son, isn't he." She deadpanned.

"It's not what you're thinking!" He fumbled, much to her private delight; she was certain no one else had seen the infamous Ging Freeccs quite as flustered before. "Yes, he's my son, he is, you're right." He tsked, shutting his eyes tightly and putting his hands back into his pockets. "Anyways, Mito says he's hell bent on taking this damn Hunter Exam and-"

"This is unlike you." She hmphed, still frowning. "You're worried about him?"

"I'm not." He said with all the ingenuity in the world, so much that she was taken aback; the conversation veered sharply toward a more serious tone again. "I'm not worried about him. He has my blood and I have total trust in him. But I still wonder about him time to time, though I spend most of my waking hours trying to avoid him."

She groaned. "_This_ was why you were trying to goad me into this? To make sure he doesn't _die_?"

"I promise you'll enjoy yourself Rita," he crossed his own arms. "Do this for me this one time; a personal favor. You'll meet interesting people along the way too."

She stared at him, appalled at herself for even thinking to consider taking this pointless examination. "If you have so much darned faith in him, why is this even necess-"

Rita was cut off by the sudden sound of his hands coming together, clasped as he lowered his head suddenly. She took several steps back, doing a double take. The high and mighty, egotistical Ging Freeccs, bowing his head to her?

"Stop!" She cringed, feeling goosebumps. "Lift your head, this isn't like you!"

"Just keep an eye on him, tell me how he's doing from time to time!"

"Okay, alright, now _stop bowing to me_ it's scaring me!"

Ging finally straightened up, relief flooding his eyes, albeit subtly. "Thanks Rita, I owe you one."

"You owe me your ass is what…" She muttered, taking her hood and roughly yanking it over her head so he couldn't see her face.

* * *

"_Did you know that every time you sigh, a little bit of happiness escapes?"  
\- Senjougahara Hitagi (Bakemonogatari)_

* * *

"You agreed to this without informing of this why?"

Rita felt a tic form on her forehead. Silently she growled to herself, put the phone to her ear in irritation.

"Wouldn't it seem strange if I had declined?" She sighed. "He was begging me to look after his son for a bit. Besides, it's the Hunter Exam, there's no possibility of running into them there. They don't need Hunter licenses to do what they do."

Pariston, telltale grin no doubt still plastered across his face, considered this for a moment. "I suppose you're right."

"You can always contact me via phone." She pointed out grudgingly. "It'll be easier too, since you don't need to avoid Ging; I won't be near him."

"Alright," he consented. "I see no problem with you taking the Hunter Exam. It won't take more than a week or two."

She breathed a sigh of relief, inhaling.

"Before you go off though, I'll need a favor from you Rita."

Exasperated, she exhaled in one go. Go figure; when Pariston yielded, it wasn't without cause.

"What is it?"

"A certain political figure has been causing quite the ruckus lately. It seems he's taken a… certain disliking to me."

"So get rid of him?"

"If you please."

"Email me the info. Quickly please. The exam starts in just a week. I'll have to do it before then."

"I sent it a few minutes ago. Thank you Rita." Far too sweet.

"Evening, Pariston."

She hung up the phone, sighing. Again.

* * *

"_The act of murder is giving up the humanity that is within oneself."  
\- Ryouji Shiki (The Garden of Sinners)_

* * *

In Hangshai at half past midnight a slender girl with long ombre-colored hair and gossamer attire was sitting next to a suited man in a casino.

Laughing with ostensible glee, she downed a shot of vodka and rolled the die. Gambling was always fun, and for some reason, she won more often than she lost.

"Rita-chan, Lady Luck seems to be on your side tonight." He commented.

"So she does." She smiled cosmetically. "But I think this will be the last game. I'm tired, and I want to retire for the night."

"So soon?"

"There are things to take care of back in our room, aren't there?" She asked, smirking.

The city was one notorious for its ridiculous crime rates and also promiscuity. It was one of the only places that prostitution was legal, but god forbid; Rita was just having some fun, right?

She had found the man and checked into the same hotel as him, introduced herself at the casino, and had successfully acquainted themselves.

"Well, then, why wait?" He stood up.

Rita cringed inwardly. The man was probably well over thirty-five; that or his job was high stress, but she figured his outer appearance was a combination of the two.

"Let's get going."

She sent a vixen smile his way and stood up, taking care to tug the dress down as it was riding up. Her feet hurt too.

_Fuck you Pariston._

Their room was on the fourteenth floor, and the ride up the elevator was filled to the brim with uncomfortable and outrageous comments.

Relieved at when they finally entered the room he had booked, she threw off her outerwear and heels.

"Make yourself comfortable." He said, also shedding his blazer.

"Do you have any wine?" She asked, sitting down on the bed. "The vodka was too hard for my taste."

"I don't want you to be too intoxicated to enjoy yourself tonight."

"Please Akihito-san," the name tasted like poison on her tongue, "I can hold my liquor well."

"Alcohol in excess will ruin your health."

"There are things inside of me that need some killing." She remarked. "Especially tonight; it'll help me focus."

"Help yourself; there should be plenty in the refrigerator."

He undid his tie as he sat down on the bed, and she stood up and poured two glasses of red wine. Carefully she swirled the fine glasses. After a brief moment of thought, Rita took both and made her way over to the guest she was entertaining tonight, courtesy of a certain Three-Star Zodiac.

"Don't be so tense," he laughed as he took the wine from her. She stood in front of him, sipping the alcohol, never breaking eyes contact even as she swallowed the bitter liquid. "Your shoulders look stiff."

"It's just from sitting so long." She shrugged. Then smiled. She put her wine glass down gently and slowly started to approach him.

Slowly, carefully, cautiously, she coated her hands in nen and focused so as to prevent any unintentional use of her inherent power to suck someone dry.

As far as she had been informed, Tatebayashi Akihito was a normal human being, though a corrupt politician; nen was not in his repertoire.

He himself chuckled slightly opened his arms to accept her.

As Rita took both sides of his face with her hands, she leaned in and closed her eyes, lips nearing his, she -

Abruptly tightened her grip and snapped his neck, intantly killing him.

Lifelessly the body slumped to the floor immediately.

She dialed Pariston but made sure that the call would go directly to his voicemail. The girl was not in the mood to deal with his cactus-like demeanor as of now.

"It's done. Don't bother me for two weeks." She mumbled into the phone.

She hung up.

Rita laughed bitterly and immediately guided herself to the bathroom. She needed a fucking shower.

* * *

"_If you want to be accepted, you must accept yourself first."  
\- Yoshida Haru (Tonari no Kaibutsu-kun)_

* * *

Before gleaning information about the Hunter Exam's whereabouts, Rita went to a salon and cut off a good eight inches of her hair. The ombre had now disappeared, so she asked the stylist to dye her hair a deep orange again.

"Miss, your hair is healthy and beautiful as is, I suggest you-"

"Neither healthy nor beauty have ever been at the top of my list in terms of priority. Please dye it this color. You'll receive your pay regardless."

"… Right away miss."

* * *

"_Loving yourself does not make you vain, or selfish, or self-centered; it makes you indestructible."  
-Unknown_

* * *

A restaurant?

Before proceeding inside, Rita ensured that her hood was situated properly, to some extent concealing her facial features by shadowing them.

She figured the Hunter Association would choose a location that no one would suspect but this particular restaurant was one that seemed far too shabby to house several hundred Hunter Contestants. It was small, slightly run down, old and unrenovated, and had bounds of moss growing on its walls.

Of course, getting here had been hell in the first place; she basically had to force the information out of certain people. The sea the ship had crossed had been choppy, and then finding the godforsaken city was one of the most exasperating tasks she had ever been tested with.

Then there was that senile old lady who had asked her strange questions.

Rita knew she had answered incorrectly, but she also knew that the path the woman had offered her was not the correct route. Upon engaging in conversation with her, Rita gleaned enough information to find the steak house.

Breathing deeply, she opened the door to the restaurant.

"Welcome!" Said the host, slightly preoccupied with grilling the beef.

"Is the backroom open?" She questioned.

"What will you have?"

"The steak combo that opens your eyes to the light." The girl almost laughed, it sounded so tacky. "For one."

The chef suddenly made intense eye contact with her. "How will you have it?"

"Grilled over a low flame, until cooked."

"Of course. Please let yourself into the backroom."

Without another word, Rita passed by all the customers and ducked into the back room. She supposed her attire was rather conspicuous, what with it being all black; the hood pulled over her eyes might have made her look suspicious but she had stopped caring about how she looked long ago.

_It seems this room is an elevator…_ She thought to herself as the ground began to rumble. _It's traveling a long ways down_.

After a good six or seven minutes, the red-painted walls parted in order to reveal a long and poorly illuminated tunnel. There were several other contestants waiting; as she entered they all turned to stare at her. Much to her surprise, only two gave off the presence of having learned nen.

"Hello!"

Rita looked down. It seemed a large green bean was speaking to her.

"Please take a number."

It read sixty-six. She chuckled.

"Please wear this badge at all times. Be careful not to lose it."

The bean walked off.

Odd fellow.

She took in surroundings once more. Rita was getting terrible vibes from a certain red-haired character facing away from her; he seemed to be dressed like a clown…

Shrugging, she sat down on the side of the tunnel.

"Haven't seen you around before." Someone waddled up to her. "I'm Tonpa. It's nice to meet you."

"Rita, though I can't say the same." She mumbled, keeping her voice low. It would do no good to attract unwanted attention. Only people of a certain caliber had made it this far into the exam, after all. "This is my first time taking the exam, so that's probably why."

"I figured," Tonpa smiled, all grins and good-intentions. "If you have any questions, feel free to ask."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"The journey must have been hard. Would you like a drink?" He fumbled around in what seemed to be his side satchel. Tonpa offered an orange fizzy drink and offered it to her with an extended hand.

She stared at it for a moment. "You're not an examiner." She commented.

"No," he laughed, almost sheepishly. "This is my thirty-fifth attempt; call me a veteran of sorts."

"…" She frowned, feeling a spike in her irritation. "Then you have no right to test me. Get it out of my sight."

"E-Eh?"

"Go kill some other poor soul with whatever you've put into the drink." She rolled her eyes.

"What are you talking about? This can hasn't been opened." He laughed. "The vending machine accidentally spit out two."

"Tonpa the Rookie Crusher," Rita growled, tired, fatigued, and quite frankly done with his bullshit, stood up and glared at him. "I make it a point not to take beverages or food others offer, much less from someone with a nickname like yours. Please get lost."

It seemed the menacing aura did enough to scare him and the corpulent man waddled away again.

Rita sighed and looked around, yanking her hood farther over her eyes; hopefully, she hadn't caused too large of a ruckus. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice-

She felt an incredible bloodlust surge to the right of her; it was quickly repressed but that sort of yearning was not one that Rita missed, nor was willing to look over without second thoughts.

A certain treacherous clown was clenching and unclenching his fists as he sat behind a well-stacked house of cards. His ochre eyes held a manic quality, similar to one someone would have seen in the gaze of an addict or alcoholic.

Rita allowed her aura to surface and envelop her completely and holistically; she never took her gaze off of the dangerous man.

Number forty-four, or so it said on his number plate. Ironically, the Japanese number of death: four.

"Oh..? And what have we here?" He said in a sultry voice.

Rita thought for a moment, then started taking a few steps toward him. "Up for a game of poker?"

The clown looked at her with smoldering golden eyes, seeming to want to size her up before answering. Without another word he collapsed the house of cards, closed his eyes for a few moments—as if savoring the feeling—and the cards suddenly flew to his open left hand, aligning themselves neatly in a deck. "It's no fun with two people."

_So he's a magician._

"It's only boring if you make it." Rita sat down in front of him.

It seemed that approaching the bloodthirsty clown in and of itself caused more of a ruckus than being rude to the Rookie Crusher ever could have. And here she was only looking for some entertainment to ease her boredom.

"Number Sixty-six." He examined, eying her number plate. "How coincidental."

"My name is Rita." She offered, refusing to be referred to as a number. "I hear enough chit-chat about you to know your name."

His voice was smooth like a vixen, velvet, like the road to hell paved with good intentions.

"You seem bored."

"You're a boring person," Hisoka remarked, "and I have no interest in toying with lackluster humans. Besdies… Aren't you scared little girl?"

Personally offended, Rita blasted her nen considerably, crossing her legs. "You were saying."

He smiled in a slightly terrifying way; if Lucifer himself had a human counterpart, it would reside within this man. "I'll deal."

"Great." She situated herself.

"Poker it is."

* * *

"_One who loses their calm loses the fight before it even starts."  
-Colonello (Katekyo Hitman Reborn!)_

* * *

After the course of several hours, hundreds of people began to trickle in. By the next day around the afternoon, over four hundred applicants had assembled. Rita stole a glance at her watch.

The acceptance period for aspiring Hunters would be ending soon.

"… Strange atmosphere down here."

"They clearly differ from the Hunter applicants we saw in both the port and city…."

The girl frowned. After hours upon hours of tense and back-breaking silence, rambunctious newcomers were not appreciated.

"Excuse me…." Someone said.

Rita tsked and turned her attention back toward the house of cards Hisoka was currently building. As far as she could tell, he was bored out of his mind, tense, bloodthirsty, and didn't really mind that she was keeping him company in a sense.

"Everyone's really tense…"

Three newcomers had made it in the nick of time, making a small child in a ridiculous green get-up applicant number four hundred five-

Rita's breath caught in her throat. As the bean offered the three their number plates, she got a good glance at the adolescent, perhaps twelve, thirteen years of age. Of course, the only information hat Ging had given to her in order to help identify him was that he would be in his early teens, short, stubborn, and looked like him.

Though at the time Ging had evoked her wrath with the incredibly vague description, she realized the resemblance between the two were uncanny, especially as far as the gleam in their eyes went. Determined, hard-headed, and brutally honest.

Of course, Tonpa approached them, as he had done with every other rookie he had laid eyes on, including a bald ninja and an eerily familiar silver-haired teen right around the same age as Gon, or who she was almost certain was Gon. From their brief exchange she realized Gon had great sensitivity to his senses and that the other two's names were Leorio and Kurapika.

What bothered her were neither the silver-haired child nor Gon, but the blonde that stood at attention beside the green-clad adolescent. A cold, ambitious look gleamed in his irises; familiar, achingly so.

Kurapika… Where had she heard the name before?

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

"_Am I a memory? Or is the memory me?"  
-Yano Motoharu (Bokura Ga Ita)_

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys! It's been awhile! So i updated a whole shit ton at once last time because I knew I would have less time when school started. Lo and behold, I'm sorry I'm so late with updating haha! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Is there anything confusing? Please drop a review :) Enjoy. I'll be preoccupied for the next month or so, so please be patient. Thanks again. ! **


	16. Memory Lane

**Book 2: Malum**

**Chapter 16: Memory Lane**

* * *

Rita decided to avoid Hisoka whenever possible throughout the course of the exam. She had approached the clown before because she had simply acknowledged his inherent strength, but she was hardly eager to see what would become of him when his bloodlust took him over. Besides, she had done it purely out of boredom, and also to assure that she would not become his first target.

As the first trial progressed, Rita made sure to keep a sharp eye on Gon. The girl reminded herself that the only reason she was here was to ensure Gon's safety. Still, the logic of it all confused her to no end. Ging wasn't the responsible parent type, and he had even showed that he had more blind faith in his son than was necessarily healthy. So why was she stuck here?

Rita sighed. She knew why she was here.

You couldn't become a Hunter based on wits and physical talent alone; there was an inherent qualification to it too. Hunter's needed to possess good intuition, a sharp sixth sense, just like you couldn't really be called a Hunter unless you were good with animals.

Something big was going to unfold and both she and Ging knew it.

She sighed, craving a smoke but refraining. It would draw attention, and that was really the last thing she wanted.

The twelve-year old seemed to be doing just fine, much to her genuine surprise. It was astounding that such a small body could hold so much energy.

The first phase passed without much incident.

Still, it was a bit amusing, as Ging had promised. The sight of Tonpa hopping from rookie to rookie and ruthlessly tossing them aside in his snide way offered some form of entertainment. And it was exciting, trying to decipher who would put up a fight and who wouldn't.

Rita was prepared to run up to about two-hundred kilometers at this pace, give or take, so she wasn't worried. If half of the contestants couldn't make it past the fifteen kilometer mark, there was nothing to be concerned about; the examiners would want at least some people to pass. Additionally, it unnerved her how few people knew nen. Hisoka, and the needle guy, and the examiner himself were the only people she could pick out immediately.

As far as she was concerned, there were only a handful of people to really keep an eye out for. Gon, of course, and his blonde-haired friend who had triggered a migraine for her beforehand; the ninja with the bald head and ridiculous eyebrows; a twelve-year old silver-haired child whose footfalls made no noise whatsoever; and Hisoka and Gittarackur, without a doubt. The others all bored her; perhaps a few of them might make it to the final round, but it would be as a result of Fate's fickleness.

"You."

_Oh boy_, Rita sighed inwardly.

Hood still draped over her eyes, she moved her head slightly to signal acknowledgement.

"Have I met you somewhere before?"

It was the curious twelve-year old. He hopped off of his skateboard that he had presumably brought along with him and tucked it under his arm as he began to run along side her.

"I wouldn't know." She said quietly, making sure to keep her voice low as to avoid discernment. The child triggered a strong sense of deja-vu, but no memories surfaced, so she concluded not.

"You feel familiar." He commented.

Rita narrowed her eyes. As far as she could tell, the kid was not someone who was possible of using nen, or his aura, to his will. By _feel familiar,_ Rita had no other idea what he could have been referring to.

"How so?"

"Beats me," he shrugged, closing his eyes. "But are you sure? Think _really_ hard. I swear I've met you before!"

"I haven't met you before, kid. Get lost."

"It was about four or five years ago."

She flinched slightly, almost imperceptibly, but it didn't go unnoticed by the insightful boy.

"Aha! So you do remember?"

"No." She growled. "Four years ago was when I lost my memory. You won't get anything from me. Go run along."

The kid stared at her for a moment longer, wide, innocent gaze dissolving into one of deep thought, purple eyes darkening considerably. "My name's Killua." He offered brightly.

Rita clenched her jaw. The way he could shift between personalities was far too reminiscent of Pariston and she was supposed to get a break from the Zodiac and his disgusting favors for at least a good week or two. "I'm number sixty-six. Nice to meet you, assassin." She remarked pointedly.

"I'll catch you around, sixty-six." And then hopped back on his skateboard and fell out of step with her. His remark sounded more like a threat than anything else.

Rita tsked loudly, irritated and now angry. This stupid Hunter Exam was giving her headaches, and these contestants were triggering things. Still, she reminded herself that it was already four years ago, and at that age, this Killua couldn't have been more than seven or eight, so there was no way he could remember her so clearly.

As for this Kurapika blonde…

"Hey! Wait up kid!"

Killua glanced behind him to see a suited man waving his fist angrily at him.

"Pay the Hunter Exam some respect, will you?!"

The assassin inquired, hands still in his pockets: "What do you mean?"

"Why are you using a skateboard?! That's cheating!"

Killua resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn't his fault he didn't want to leave his skateboard behind. And god forbid, it wasn't as if he was going to _carry it as he ran_; obviously he was going to ride it. No one else had stopped him anyways. Who was this guy?

_Might as well mess around with him for a bit…_

"Why?"

"W-Why?!" The man spluttered, flabbergasted. "This is an endurance test!"

"No it isn't!"

Killua looked behind him again, catching sight of a shockingly-dressed boy in all green jogging to catch up.

"Gon what are you saying?!"

"The examiner only told us to follow him."

"Whose side are you on, eh?!"

Killua blinked curiously, reducing his speed to ride alongside him. "Hey, how old are you?"

"Twelve years."

_Hmm… We're the same age. _

He flipped his skateboard and caught it, placing it beneath his arm. "Guess I'll run too, then."

"Wow!" Gon's eyes began to literally sparkle in admiration. "That was cool!"

"I'm Killua." He said, still eyeing the other warily.

"I'm Gon." He returned warmly, far too warmly.

Killua found these people incredibly interesting, though for the life of him, he couldn't explain why. Of course, Hisoka was someone he wanted to avoid, and same with the ninja and scary needle dude, but Gon was pretty cool, he guessed, and that one girl with the hood seemed like she was strong too.

This suited man, on the other hand…

"You know," Killua whispered after some time had elapsed. "That girl over there is keeping an eye on you."

"Eh?" Gon seemed shocked.

"You didn't know?"

"She's a_ girl_?!"

Killua sensed a slight wave of irritation roll off her shoulders.

"Lower your voice!" Killua snapped, albeit good-naturedly. "Yeah, she's a girl. So you can tell when someone's watching you but you can't discern their gender?"

Gon laughed meekly.

"So you knew right?"

"Well I knew someone was keeping tabs on me, but I was stuck between whether it was the hooded figure or the ninja."

Killua frowned slightly.

"Why is she watching me?"

"Beats me." He shrugged, examining the girl.

The assassin swore he'd seen her before when he was young, very young, when a certain gang of bandits decided to haphazardly crash a party; which was all for naught. But four years had a tendency to change people. This girl here was a bit taller and stood a bit more stooped, posture wise. Her eyes were also lacklustre, not as clear as the female he remembered. Her voice was different and she didn't seem to be a Spider.

"Do you know her Killua?"

Killua thought carefully before answering. "No." He said clearly, honestly. "I don't. And I don't know why she's keeping a close eye on you either."

"Well, she doesn't mean any harm," Gon shrugged, "so I'm sure her curiosity just got the better of her or something like that."

Killua blinked several times. "How do you know she doesn't mean any harm?"

"I just know." He laughed. "You can't feel anything bad coming from her either too, right? I think she's naturally quiet is all. There shouldn't be anything to worry about."

Upon closer examination, the child found that his newfound companion was correct. There was no trace of malicious intent anywhere on the girl, apparent from an obvious lack of bloodlust, though the same could not be said of certain treacherous magicians. Still, the obvious and forthright trust Gon had so straightforwardly placed on the girl made stunned him.

How nice it would be to be so oblivious.

"If anything, I think she's kind of sad." Gon suddenly turned serious.

"What makes you say that?" He raised an eyebrow. The kid was jumping to conclusions left and right.

"She feels sad." He remarked. "I hope I can be her friend later on."

Killua put his hands in his pockets and allowed his bangs to shadow over his eyes.

Friends, huh?

* * *

"You know that habit will probably wind up killing you?" Ging questioned her rhetorically as she took a long drag on a cigarette.

She felt a tic form on her forehead. "Hop off Ging." She hissed. "We're all going to die anyways."

"Woah," Ging frowned. "Feisty. I'm just saying you should stop. It's not the best habit for people who fight using their bodies."

"I know, I know." Rita threw it on the ground and dug it into the soil with her heel. "It's just something I've grown fond of."

"Smoking?"

"It's a long story."

"We have time." Ging crossed his arms.

How ironic.

The two were currently taking very meager shelter behind the crumbling ruins of a dilapidated building. Nen bullets were being fired at them at around 250 kilometers per hour. Now originally, the two would be able to walk through the barrage like an April shower except direct impact at that speed could very easily shatter bones, so it wasn't quite safe to risk it. As an alternative, the two decided to reinforce a wall with nen, as it was naturally sturdier than their bodies to begin with. Unfortunately, even said stone wall was beginning to crumble under the repeated barrage of pinging projectiles.

"Time you say." Rita winced as a bullet ricocheted off of the corner of the crumbling wall very close to her face. "I don't even remember, actually. I just recall seeing someone smoke one when they were down in the dumps. Surprisingly cathartic. Want one?" She offered.

He looked at it for a little, and then put forth an open hand, much to her surprise. She filled it with a cigarette and when he put it in between his lips, he motioned for a light. Rita almost smirked and merely snapped her fingers in front of his face.

A large flame leapt up into the air, engulfing the end of cigarette.

It shocked Ging and he lept back a little, crashing into the wall.

The end result was a lit joint.

He glared at her, having forgotten that the girl utilized Transmutation and enjoyed using it whenever she could.

"Punk." He crossed his arms, war and all be damned; he had half a mind to kill the girl himself.

"Old man." She seemed to read his mind, issuing a challenge.

* * *

"-Ita… Rita… Rita!"

The girl started awake, flailing for a moment, and then regaining her bearings as she quickly took in her surroundings. _What a realistic dream. _It had been one of when she and Ging were doing missions together. Quite a while ago.

"The hell?" She felt a tic form on her forehead.

Gon stood over her, looking down curiously. Again, the sight did a number on her eyes and she shooed him away.

"What do you want, Gon?" She hissed.

"Wah! She knows my name!"

"I'm pretty sure everyone knows your name at this point, Gon, it'd be weirder if she didn't." Killua crossed his arms.

"Really?!

Rita cleared her throat.

"Oh! Yeah, we're moving on to the final stage pretty soon."

"Already?" She crinkled her face into a frown. Rita didn't remember much, just that the first stage had been a lot of running the somewhere along the way she took a three day nap after she had secured her target's number plate on an uncharted island.

"What do you mean already? We've cleared four stages already!"

"Eh," she shrugged. "Where am I?"

"We're on a blimp." Rita looked up to the blonde who spoke. "Though how you can rest so soundly with several formidable opponents around you is beyond me."

She felt a flash of white-hot irritation blind her for a moment. If this Kurapika brat thought she had been resting _soundly_, of all things, he had another fucking thing coming his way… "You all seem to be very at ease around me, even though you hardly know me." She countered.

"Oh that reminds me! Your phone's been going off non-stop for the past few minutes!" Gon piped up.

Rita looked toward her bag, which carried everything not on her person, and listened carefully. It was indeed going off, and the only person who would be calling her… She tsked violently. "Excuse me."

She swiped the cellular device from her bag and silenced it, carrying it to another room and putting herself into Zetsu. As she flipped through the call log, there was only one name. It was to be expected of course; she only had two contacts. Ging, and Pariston.

Hitting the call button, she brought it up to her ear.

"How kind of you to call me back Rita." The serpent voice on the other line seemed to coo.

"I thought you said you'd leave me alone while this went on."

"Oh dear, you aren't finished yet? I wonder what's taking you so long."

"It's not up to me," _you fucking dickwad_, she added internally, "It goes by the time the examiners have set, so blame your own corporation."

"It can't be helped." Pariston mourned on the other line. "I have something for you."

"What is it?"

"There should be a little boy there by the name of Kurapika."

Rita felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. "About him?"

"Spend some time with him. You might remember something about yourself."

"I've seen him somewhere before, haven't I?" She began to feel anxious. "How do I know him?"

"Patience, you'll find out." She could hear his stupid smile.

"What else do you want?" The girl almost spat into the receiver. "Surely more than a bit of quality time between us."

"Find out his ambitions." And then the dial tone came on, signalling that he had left.

Stiffly pocketing her phone, Rita sighed and looked up to the ceiling of the room she had slipped into. It was dark.

There was a window, a rather large one, along the walls, and she stepped closer to it to take a look at the vast expanse of sky before her. The clouds were massive and looming, stretching and enormous, colored an angry midnight grey.

She stayed in that room for a long time, smoking a pack of cigarettes she found in her back pocket. After she went through the entire thing, she left the room, going back to where she left her bag of belongings and was astonished to find Killua and Gon curled up sleeping next to each other. It seemed they had fallen asleep waiting for her, despite how rude she had been to them.

She frowned and looked at them, realizing it was about three in the morning. Rita stared especially at Gon, finding Ging's own characteristics in him. Spiked, black hair, an easy smile, smooth facial features unused to hard emotions, same nose.

The girl unzipped her jacket and put it over the two, realizing she would now have to scheme a bit to gain the trust of the irksome blonde.

Sighing, Rita decided she would go back to that empty room where she had called Pariston back.

TO BE CONTINUED

* * *

**a/n: hey guys! wow, im so sorry its been over a month since i updated! D: this chapter is also very messy, because it was written over the course of like, two months, and i kept getting off track :/ basically, it's rita navigating the hunter examination. please bear with me, because i have a lot in mind. i just have a lot of school work on my plate ;^; i hope you're enjoying so far thought! see you in about a week :D **


	17. Brute Force, Brute Force, and Murder

**Book 2: Malum**

**Chapter 17: Brute Force, Brute Force, Brute Force, and Murder**

* * *

"_The best way to tame a mystery is with another mystery."  
\- Oreki Houtarou (Hyouka)_

* * *

Rita felt that Hunter Chairman Netero would normally someone she would really, really hate. The man was too perky, not to mention: what the hell were this man's legs made out of? She made it a habit not to listen to him too carefully lest he wind up sucking her into his little escapades and speeches. Still, she did need to ask him about chess, whatever it was that Ging called it, but Rita supposed that could wait until after the examination. As of now, he was laying down the rules for the final stage of the Hunter Exam. All the girl really understood was that she just needed to win; one win would guarantee her a victory.

Then again, she really didn't need to guarantee herself a victory; she needed to guarantee Gon's safety.

But there was a problem. Netero had explained that to gain a victory, one needed to make their opponent surrender. Meaning Gon could or could not be subjected to a world of pain depending upon who he was put with.

Rita wondered if watching Gon get several limbs broken would mean a breach in her promise with Ging.

Still, the promise she had made with the geezer was one to secure the child's life; and broken bones weren't anything Hunters couldn't handle. She would step in if his life was in immediate danger. Anything less than that, Gon would have to endure himself.

And then the problem with Kurapika. Stupid Pariston had outdone himself, pinning a job on her in the final rounds of the Hunter Examination when tensions were beginning to peak. Just what the hell was she really supposed to do, ask if she could tag along with the kid for a few days?

There were many things on her chest, and not enough way to relieve the pressure.

Rita took a deep, deep breathe and silently reminded herself to buy a pack of cigarettes once this was finished. She was down to her last two. Albeit, when she finished, she had better be walking out with a Hunter License in one hand for all the hell she had to go through for this.

"What's wrong?" Killua stared up at her curiously. "Nervous?"

She exhaled, irritated enough as was. "Look, kid, why do you keep pestering me?"

"Because it's funny!" He giggled. "And I know you remember me." He said in a more serious tone.

"Well you're senile." She rolled her eyes and brought a cigarette up in between her lips. This was getting out of hand, and it was shameful, being unable to control her nicotine cravings under stressful situations. Maybe she should quit.

She entertained the idea for several seconds and threw it out the window. She chuckled. Hell no.

"Can I try one?" Killua asked, eyes shining as he motioned to her roll.

"Aren't you like, twelve?" She glared at him.

"Aren't you like, forty?" His cat-eyes gleamed mischievously.

A splitting migraine seared through her brain and settled comfortably right behind her eyes, making her wince slightly. Maybe she should have Ging look at these weird headaches she'd been getting recently; they were really starting to become bothersome.

"Whatever, you're not my responsibility." She shook her head and gave the kid her last one.

"Light?" He asked.

For kicks, Rita smirked and brought her fingers to the end of the small roll, snapping them as she brought her nen to a spark via friction. The embers caught and began a new life as a dull blaze in the end of the cigarette.

"Take a long drag, Killua." She demonstrated, blowing the smoke out through her mouth. "Isn't it disgusting."

He tried to do as she did but failed miserably, coughing and hacking his lungs up after taking a whiff. "It's gross!"

"Lot's of things are." Rita laughed. "Now throw that away and never light another. They'll kill you in the long run."

"Th-Then," more coughing. "Why do I see you smoking so many yourself?!" He demanded, turning to fairness and unfairness as all little children had a tendency to do at his age.

Another long drag. "There are things inside of me I need to kill." Rita said quietly. "You'll understand when you get older. Stop hanging around me and talk to Gon. You're making him antsy by leaving him alone."

Killua looked at her, curiosity unsated, even sparked, and hesitated before running off with his blue cat-eyes still on her as he left her side.

* * *

"_I can't even rest in peace, can I?"  
\- Kamina (Gurren Lagann)_

* * *

Lately, he hadn't been able to get more than three hours of sleep at a time. It was a long time, three hours, especially relatively speaking, and Kuroro figured he should count his blessings, but he wondered what his life would be like if he was a normal person every once in awhile. It would be nice, a normal sleep schedule; peace of mind for six hours, even if only temporarily.

Kuroro took a deep breath and stood up. "We're splitting up for the time being."

"About time." Phinx whooped, getting on his own two feet and swinging his arms around, as if being in the presence of the other Spiders for an extended period of time had somehow resulted in a stiffness of shoulders.

"Any particular reason?" Pakunoda questioned.

"Just that there's no particular reason for us to stay together. Besides, most of us are solitary people. We get into fights if we're around each other for too long."

"When will we convene again?"

"We're dispersing for an indefinite period of time."

"How will you call us together next time?"

"You'll know." Kuroro blinked. "Any other questions?"

He looked around to his Spiders, suddenly hoping this decision wasn't too sudden, that it didn't harshly go against anyone's particular will. It's just that Kuroro himself was very tired and constantly having to put up a façade of mental stability wasn't helping.

He debated asking whether or not this was an acceptable course of action for everyone in his Troupe, but decided against it. If they didn't like it, no one would have qualms about making their own grievances known; they were not a quiet group of people, after all.

"Disperse." He gave the final word. It was a relaxed one this time, and people began to gather up their things and belongings as they slowly made their way out of their temporary hideout. Kuroro made himself a mental note to destroy it afterward. They were quickly rising in terms of notoriety and though there was no doubt in his mind that he himself could fend off any unwanted and unwarranted attention, he would still rather avoid all of it, if possible.

"Dancho," someone suddenly sought his attention, and he forcibly snapped himself from his thought process.

"Yes, Pakunoda." He answered.

"Please take care of yourself in the meantime."

Truth be told, Kuroro was not entirely certain of his relationship with the aquiline-nosed woman. She was a Spider, of course, and entirely loyal to him. Still she was ruthless and did not hesitate to engage in carnage when the situation called for mass murder. Many times she had demonstrated her powerful fidelity to Kuroro, going out of her way to ensure his well-being, almost as if trying to make up for the gaping hole the loss of a certain member had left. Sometimes it made him uncomfortable, and other times, it brought brief but nonetheless palpable respite to his wearied self.

"Thank you." Kuroro closed his eyes, nodded his head once. "You as well. I'll see you in due time."

She was not always a woman of many words and proceeded to make her exit swiftly and quietly. Ten minutes later found Kuroro alone in the building, alone with nothing but himself and his own thoughts.

The Phantom Troupe head toyed with the idea of taking a little nap but decided that it would be bad if someone had the shit luck of stumbling in on his sleeping figure and put the idea to rest. He brought out his nen book and flipped through the pages leisurely, meandering around in it as he searched for a power that would help him reduce the place to ruins.

Finding nothing to his fancy, he opted simply to indulge himself in a play of stress-relief and throw his nen around in order to destroy the inside of the building.

If there was one thing he regretted about the way he killed his companion, it would have to be the fact that he took nothing to remind him of her. Sometimes it frightened him, how he forgot exactly what shade of hazel her eyes were; the way her smirk would set itself on her cocky expression; the sound of her caustic voice.

He wished he could tell himself it was the right thing to do. Back then, the Spider had been budding and blooming, and it possessed only six or seven members at its disposal. It had been vulnerable, and letting someone like the previous eighth member into its ranks had seriously jeopardized the entire group sometimes; mostly it jeopardized him. He couldn't think straight around her, and for someone who relied so heavily on his intellect, it was something he couldn't afford.

Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself.

"_Tale somberness non si sposa bene con te Kuroro, devo dire._ (Such somberness doesn't sit well with you Kuroro, I must say)."

Kuroro blinked, shocked to suddenly find himself plunged into darkness. He blinked several times, but it did not fade. And then he realized that in his inner musings, he had wasted several hours in which the sun had set entirely. He sat now, in a pile of rubble that his nen had crushed, the remains of the dilapidated building they had used as a base beforehand. The night had set deep.

It took him several more seconds to cogitate on the syllables that had been spouted at him, and yet another few for him to register that, yes, he was indeed familiar with the language. Italian.

"_Prendete il vostro tempo dolce come sempre, non è vero Marzio?_ (You take your sweet time as always, don't you Marzio?)"

"_Io sono un uomo semplice. Cosa posso dire?_ (I am a simple man. What can I say?)" Laughter came as a shadowy figure sat himself down behind Kuroro. He put his back against Kuroro's own.

Marzio was one of a select number of people who could make natural contact with Kuroro and keep his head firmly attached to his shoulders. Why that was, even Kuroro wasn't too sure. But Marzio was a people person, one well-versed in human charisma and nature. That probably had something to do with it, as did the fact that Marzio was a man with intricate ties to the higher-ups in the Mafia. He was intelligent, even if his arrogance overshadowed that particular fact, and it was not a stretch to say that he frightened the Phantom Troupe leader.

Oh they would laugh at him now if they could see him. Kuroro Lucifer of all people treading lightly around Mafia scum, soft under-bellied trash.

He had never been able to sum Marzio up in one sentence, as he had never been able to fully grasp the size of Marzio's prowess. He stayed constantly in a strange nen state where it was obvious that he was using his aura, but it was never clear how much of it he was utilizing.

"_Cosa succede?_ (What's been going on?)"

"_Li ho dispersi, come si può vedere. La prossima volta che convochiamo sarà al Auction Yorkshin, nel mese di settembre._ _Ci vediamo lì Hisoka per la prima volta anche._ (I've dispersed them, as you can see. The next time we convene will be at the Yorkshin Auction, in September. I'll meet Hisoka there for the first time too.)"

"_Il tuo ottavo membro mentalmente instabile?_ (Your mentally unstable eighth member?)"

"_Un certo mago insidioso. Nessuno di noi è il suono nel reparto mentale, in modo da non utilizzare il termine ad alta voce._ (A certain treacherous magician. None of us are sound in the mental department, so we don't use the term out loud.)"

"_Vedo. Sei nervoso per questa asta?_ (I see. Are you nervous for this auction?)"

"_No_." Kuroro answered too quickly. "_E 'solo una vendita all'asta, niente di più e niente di meno. Ti porteremo la mummia e la spada che si dice di essere sulla lista dell'asta. Tutto il resto prendiamo._ (It's just an auction, nothing more and nothing less. We'll get you the mummy and the sword that are said to be on the auction list. Everything else we'll take.)"

"_E in cambio, ti darò la pace della mente._ (And in exchange, I'll give you peace of mind.)" Marzio chuckled.

"_Se solo fosse così semplice._ (If only it were so easy.)"

"_E '! _(It is!)" He exclaimed. "_Ti troverò una donna migliore, Chrollo_. (I'll find you a better woman, Chrollo.)" Marzio said his foreign name smoothly and easily, like a serpent. "_Uno che non poteva nemmeno confrontare._ (One that she couldn't even compare to.)"

"_Tu dici che solo perché non la conoscevate._ (You say that only because you didn't know her.)"

"_Sono stato con molte donne, il mio amico. Ci sono un sacco di pesci nel mare._ (I have been with many women, my friend. There are plenty of fish in the sea.)" He waved with a flourish. "_Ma in realtà, la mafia ha ancora le sue informazioni in suo database. Se tu fossi davvero così affezionato a lei, possiamo fare un altro_. (But really, the Mafia still has her information in her database. If you were really so fond of her, we can make another one.)"

Kuroro nearly recoiled at this information, as if the words themselves had delivered a sharp burn. "_Fare un altro?_ (_Make another one_?)" He repeated.

"_Era un'arma biologica. Naturalmente abbiamo la codifica nel file. Una copia, Chrollo. Oh, andiamo compagno carissimo, non guardare così scioccato. Non era nemmeno umano per cominciare._ (She was a biological weapon. Of course we have her coding on file. A carbon copy, Chrollo. Oh come on companion dearest, don't look so shocked. She wasn't even human to begin with.)"

"_Era ancora la propria persona._ (She was still her own person.)"

"_Alla fine, è davvero tutto a voi. Se si ottiene me quello che ho chiesto, ti darò tutto quello che vuoi. Alla fine, potremmo probabilmente anche il suo risorgere, se è stato trovato il corpo._ (In the end, it's really all up to you. If you get me what I asked for, I'll give you anything you want. In the end, we could probably even resurrect her, if the body was found.)"

"_Basta con questo strano discorso. _(Enough of this strange talk.)" Kuroro shook his head slightly. "_Cosa volevi stasera?_ (What did you want tonight?)"

"_Un compagno di sopportare la solitudine con._ (A companion to bear the loneliness with.)" Marzio brought out of a large bottle of red wine; where he had been keeping the damn thing was beyond Kuroro.

"_Non bevo._ (I don't drink.)" Kuroro remarked.

"_E non prendo docce, ora chiuso l'inferno. _(And I don't take showers, now shut the hell up.)" The Italian snorted. "_Non sto cercando di intossicare voi. Se ti fa sentire meglio, cerchiamo di testa di un motel a condividerlo._ (I'm not trying to intoxicate you. If it would make you feel better, let's head to a motel to share it.)"

"_Ti dirò che cosa. Io sono alcuni con voi se si gioca una partita a scacchi con me._ (I'll tell you what. I'll have some with you if you play a game of chess with me.)"

"_E dove otteniamo la scacchiera, Chrollo?_ (And where do we get the chessboard, Chrollo?)"

Kuroro brought an index finger up to his temple, tapping it twice. "_Quassù, compagno carissimo. _(Up here, companion dearest.)"

* * *

"_Nothing will progress while you can't make up your mind."  
\- Ai Kotani (Solani)_

* * *

"Tch."

Rita hit the southern wall of the room painfully as her back collided with the solid plaster. She couldn't help the sound of exasperation that found its way through her clenched teeth.

"There's really no need for this to continue on, miss."

The girl straightened up and brushed herself off. In all honesty, this battle should have posed no problem for her.

Except Netero had decreed that she could not kill her opponent, and that placed unnecessary restrictions on her nen output, so now the girl had to tread lightly, more so than she would have liked.

"The power difference is really quite clear."

_Quite clear, I fucking know._ Rita felt her temper peak.

"You should surrender before you're permanently wounded."

"I think I'll manage somehow, Bodoro." Rita nearly scoffed. The man was old, though well-versed in the martial arts, and he already had one foot in the grave. Pity had never been one of her more prominently felt emotions, so really, he was just unlucky.

Until Rita figured out a way to make him surrender, she would humor him, let him think he had the upper hand.

From thirty feet away, Gon watched her battle with wide, bright eyes. Absentmindedly Rita wondered what the world would look like from the perspective of those shining, unclouded orbs.

A sudden movement in front of her wrenched her focus back to her fight, the final stage of the Hunter Examination. The well-aged martial artist managed to keep her attention on him for the full span of two minutes before Rita found it wandering around again.

What would Ging do if he found out that Rita had stood idly by while she had watched the eyebrow ninja swiftly dislocate one of his shoulders? Well, knowing Ging, it was more obvious that he wouldn't mind nearly as much as a typical parent would; it wouldn't be surprising if Ging weren't angry at all. Gon had successfully completed his Hunter Examination and his shoulder was being treated as Rita fought her own individual battle. But then there was the problem of gaining the Kuruta's trust for a while. Finding out his motives, as Pariston had so eloquently put it.

Rita felt her arm make a strange noise under the pressure of Bodoro's well-timed kick. She had miscalculated the coverage of her nen as well as the elderly man's strength, and now she would pay the consequences.

Hissing, the girl put several paces of safety distance between herself and the martial arts master.

Why were her thoughts suddenly becoming so chaotic?

Angry with the situation as well as with herself, Rita ran her finger through her hair and threw off her hoodie.

"Well?" Bodoro prompted.

"Maybe if you can keep this pace up for another hour or two, I'll consider letting you have the match." She didn't think the man realized how lucky he was she was required not to kill him.

Feeling a prickling pressure on her back, Rita panicked and turned around, only to come to the realization that the young assassin was watching her match with extremely perceptive eyes. His blue eyes were narrowed and a hard-set line comprised his lips; he was disappointed.

_I'll show you disappointed you disrespectful imposing preteen_, Rita snarled inwardly.

In context however, the twelve year old was right. He had every right to be disappointed with her, especially after the way she had treated his group beforehand. Big words and no action to back it up with was all Killua was seeing.

_What you need to do is focus on one thing at a time, Rita,_ she told herself. _So what do you need to focus on now?_ She narrowed her eyes. _Getting what I put up with this for; my Hunter License._

Taking a deep breath, the orangette unexpectedly sat down and closed her eyes. A confused murmur ripped through the small crowd spectating her match. Turmoil was a powerful motivator but it was never the most effective, nor was it the most organized. Nothing would get done if she didn't execute her moves precisely with a clear mind.

Poor Bodoro must have thought she was mocking him by sitting down in the middle of their heated battle without so much as a word, judging from the quick barrage of martial arts moves he began raining down on her.

_No use. _

All of her nen right now was being focused on outward protection; no simple kick or jab would put a scratch on her.

_How do I make him surrender?_ Rita's mind began to race. _How do I win this without killing him?_

* * *

"_But pleasure brought out by intellect is infinite."  
\- Kouzaburou Touma (Psycho-Pass)_

* * *

"There are four ways to win a match." Ging says, hands in his pockets as his bitter eyes glared up at the cloudless sky. "Brute force, fear, intellect, or murder."

"They all sound ridiculous." Rita snorts, rolling her eyes. "Apart from brute force, which is probably the only real way to win your fight."

"Were you listening, you ungrateful brat?" The Two-Star Hunter snapped.

"Maybe I'd listen more if you acted like your age instead of your shoe size!"

"What did you say?"

"Tell me I'm wrong!"

"You are!"

He makes a sound of pure exasperation and suddenly collapses on his rear. This strikes Rita as a utterly strange and moronic endeavor that only proves her previous accusation, as they had just finished excavating one of Ging's precious relics and were, of course, in the middle of the desert, mid-day nonetheless.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" She groans.

"Meditating. Now get on your ass and do the same."

"Ging, _we're out of water!_ Can you please be practical, _for once in your life_?!"

"It's only for an hour or two Rita; cooperate, for once in _your_ life."

His tone suddenly turns grave, which is one of the few things Ging can do that will actually frighten her. The man is usually such an irresponsible goofball, and a lazy one on top of that, so seeing the Zodiac take something seriously usually signified some matter of primary importance.

"I swear to god, Ging…" She relents, sitting down on the scorching sand next to the man, who has debatably lost his sanity at this point.

"What were the four ways, Rita?"

"Brute force, brute force, brute force, and murder." She closed her own eyes, feeling the irritation in his aura peak next to her.

"Brute force, fear, intellect, and murder." He corrects her, his own voice wavering slightly at the difficulty of restraining himself from knocking her over the head. "The four ways to win a match."

"Enlighten me, dear Confucius."

"Enlightenment is an aspect of _Buddhism_, you moron!" This time he really does knock her over the head. "Now shut up and listen."

Rita mutters to herself for a good ten seconds before settling down and deciding to take in what Ging actually has to say.

"Brute force is when you hurt your opponent to the point where he or she can no longer stand and fight. This is regarded as one of the most difficult methods, but for some reason, it is the method most often used."

"Because it's the most straight-forward and impactful." She points out.

"It's also the most exhausting and time consuming, as well as wasteful." Ging responds, his eyes still shut tight. A frown twists his facial features. "You also jump straight to this, even when it's unnecessary."

Rita admits he's right, but says nothing out loud.

"Winning by fear means grasping victory through intimidation. When you portray yourself as too powerful for your opponent to overcome, or take on and come out alive, there is a good chance you won't have to fight at all. This is regarded as the most clever and preferred method of victory."

"Hey Ging, you actually sound really wise and it's actually scaring the shit out of me. Can we haul ass over to the next town. _Please_?"

Rita knows she'll have bruises on the back of her head by that night, tomorrow morning if she's lucky.

"Winning by intellect is akin to outsmarting your opponent. If there's something this principle teaches you, it's that all of your opponents have a flaw. Search hard enough and you'll find it. Think hard enough and you'll find a way to use that weakness to your example."

"So basically just-"

"_Shhh!"_ Ging hisses violently, if is already aggravated enough. "Rita, intellect also means having enough background knowledge on your opponent and their methods and habits to defeat them. A person's way of life is often their largest weakness in battles."

"Aaand, murder is straight-forward so _let's keep moving Ging._" Rita leaps up to her feet, breaking the meditation and dusting herself off.

"You'll do well to keep these four principles in mind, Rita." He fixes her with a sidelong glance that unnerves the girl.

"Can you snap out of it!" She growls. "You're creeping me out."

"Maybe when you learn the difference between philosophy and religion you uncultured swine!" Ging hmphs.

And Rita knows she is safe again.

"It's not the strong or smart who survive, but the ones who can bring about change."  
\- Ludenberg Celestia (Danganronpan)

The pleasant memory brought her temporary peace and lightened the enormous burden on her chest physically. As much as she hated him, Rita realized she felt awkward and ungainly without the cantankerous Two-Star Hunter by her side.

Killua now fixed her with a curious look, the sides of lips curved up in the beginnings of a light smile.

Bodoro himself now stood back, thinking to himself. It was obvious that ramming her with ineffective hand-to-hand techniques wouldn't do anything to tip the scales in his favor, so he examined her once more with a careful eyes.

Within the seated girl was a racing intelligence.

_Rita, intellect also means having enough background knowledge on your opponent and their methods and habits to defeat them_; Ging's voice fluttered back to her.

_So what do I know about Bodoro?_

He was old. He was an elderly male. A martial arts master.

_And? What kind of martial arts? What does he adhere to? Does he follow strict disciplines?_

Rita wasn't sure what form of martial arts he practiced. Still, karate and aikido were out of the picture, as was kung fu. Karate promoted the use of weapons, which he avoided and aikido stressed using the force of one's opponent and their weight against them. His stances were far to set and wide to be a part of kung fu's agile practice.

_More. What more do you know? What can you take advantage of?_

A sudden realization bolted through Rita like thunder, jolting her from her own meditation.

_He doesn't fight children. It's against his personal code of honor. _

When Netero had gone through the painstaking process of setting up matches for the final stage of the Hunter Exam, he had done his best to pair opponents without emotional attachments and had asked a variety of questions.

It was rather easy to listen in on all the personal preferences of the rest of the contestants as the chairman had really made no extra effort to soundproof the private room where he had been interviewing all the contestants.

Bodoro had wanted avoid a match with Gon or Killua, as he didn't fight children, on any occasion.

_A gamble. Is it worth it?_

Rita cleared her throat and slowly stood up, feeling much more confident than she had previously. Using the powerful legs that she had vested so much time and pride in, she suddenly appeared not three feet from Bodoro, hand on his shoulder.

"If you don't forfeit," she whispered, tightening her grip on his shoulder painfully. "I'll kill the boy whose shoulder got wrenched out of his socket. And maybe that one over there, for kicks." She jerked her head over to the silver-haired assassin who was still watching them with piqued anxiousness.

For added precaution, she expanded her nen past the reaches of her body to totally envelop the man. Her nen had never been the powerful type, but it had always had a plentiful concentration of malice within it; it was enough to convince the man of her cold-bloodedness.

She felt the martial arts master go rigid all over his body, stiff and angry.

_Score._

Eight seconds later, Bodoro sighed and raised his hand. "I surrender."

Rita exhaled in quiet relief. Of course she wouldn't have laid a finger on Gon, Ging's child, especially not when he was basically a cripple, as was his current condition. Nor did she want to trifle with Killua, the cat-eyed twelve year old who debatably knew more about her than she did herself. Her bluff had worked though, and that was what mattered. She would walk out of the room with her Hunter License soon.

A ridiculous amount of anxiousness and impatience flared up from across the room, heavily centered around Hisoka. He was looking at her with orbs clouded with excitement and exhilaration.

Rita shuddered and rolled her eyes.

She had never liked clowns, and this one was no exception.

This one more than the others, for God's sake.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

"Victory isn't determined solely by who has the superior physical abilities."  
\- Tsumugu Kinagase (Kill la Kill)

* * *

**a/n: Hey guys :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It's almost twice as long as the other one. A little Valentine's day treat! (Even though it's 3AM and it's technically not Valentine's day anymore D:) Please drops some reviews, I really, really, really LOVE IT when you guys give me feed back! It's so dearl appreciated! I'll try to keep updating around once a week! Until next time ~**


	18. For the Sake of Dumb Ass Missions

**Book 2: Malum**

**Chapter 18: For the Sake of Dumb Ass Missions**

* * *

Rita curbed the terrible needs to scoff when the Hunter License was put into her hands. For all of the turmoil and death it caused, it seemed to be some fantastically normal plastic and ink.

"Is something funny?" The Kuruta next to her said coldly, without so much as a fleeting glance in her direction.

She was typically very sensitive to the people around her. Not sensitive in that she took into consideration their feelings, but more aware of their emotional state; which is to say, she had a tendency to tread lightly around them if they peak her interest. Thus, she was fairly certain she really hadn't done jack shit to piss off the Kuruta. The blonde had been coldly aloof toward her from their second encounter onwards however, and so, she figured Pariston's order to find out his objectives won't be coming true any time soon.

"Nothing's funny, just ironic."

A chilling silence greeted her. And she thought she was good at being an ass.

Sighing, she crossed her arms. "It's seems anticlimactic, receiving a piece of plastic for all of our hard work and endeavors."

"Didn't seem like you had any trouble with this examination at all."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you implying something?"

"Nothing at all." He angled his face away from her, effectively cutting off their conversation.

If the blonde thought she had bribed her way through this pain-in-the-ass exam, he was sorely mistaken. It was just annoying at most for her, and to be frank, Rita was just more experienced. _Might have something to do with how I'm a biological fighting machine_, she thought bitterly.

There was a sudden spectacle in the room and Rita's line of sight drifted toward Gon, who stood proudly with one arm in a cast and the other... firmly grasping needle guy's forearm. Great.

Gittarackur had revealed himself suddenly to be Killua's menacing and quite frankly, rather terrifying older brother in the last stage of the exam. By shoving needles into his face, he could temporarily change the bone structure of it and impersonate anyone he wanted to, really.

His true name was Illumi, apparently, and said Illumi had the power to scare the shit out of a certain very sassy twelve-year-old silver-haired assassin; had actually sent him running back home after he abruptly withdrew himself from the Hunter Exam.

No wonder Gon looked fabulously pissed off. But still, Ging had asked her to take care of the brat, so she supposed she was required to care..

"He doesn't need to earn the right to be my friend!"

Rita blinked and cocked her head to the side. It seemed as if… Gon had literally wrenched the raven from his seat and was currently crushing the life out of his forearm.

"Don't bother apologizing." Gon's frown deepened. "Just take me to see Killua."

"What will you do then?" Illumi seemed to singsong.

"That should be obvious! I'm going to rescue him!"

_Though on the fact of rescuing the kid… I'm not too sure he needs it. _Rita rolled her eyes.

"You make it sound as if I kidnapped him. He walked away on his own."

"But it wasn't his choice! He was being manipulated by you people. It's the same thing."

Silence. And then Netero walked into the room. "We were actually just discussing this Gon. Your friend Kurapika and Leorio were explaining the situation to me."

Rita slowly turned her attention to Kurapika and Leorio who got up from their seats and gave their arguments. And then she sighed.

Arguing suddenly broke out among the new Hunters. The younger one, with the pink beanie, Pockle, she believed, turned around and began talking.

"If there's anything odd about this exam, it'd be the way you won." He scoffed.

And Rita indeed, remembered that the strange magician had forfeited immediately after he had whispered something into the blonde's hair.

"If you have nothing to hide, tell us." He narrowed his eyes. "Right now."

Kurapika slightly recoiled and met his glare. "I have no obligation to tell you."

"Maybe not, but I believe you owe it to us."

Rita sighed and scratched the back of her head. _Fucking Pariston and his dumb ass missions. _

"On what account does the kid owe it to you?" She voiced. The room went silent. Apparently, it was strange that she was talking out to everyone. "If you consider this kid's victory to be odd, a victory by default would be equally as odd." Rita threw in a sneer for good measure.

Pockle began to bristle. "What did you say?!"

"None of that matters!" Gon burst out. "There's no point in arguing over who should have passed! If you're not satisfied, keep working. But right now, none of that matters."

_Ging, how does it feel to know that your twelve year old kid has more common sense than you?_

"Old Man Netero." She crossed her arms. "I'm leaving."

"You haven't been briefed yet, little lady." He chastised. "Don't be disrespectful."

"I've already been briefed!" She stood up and stretched. "Six times! By the Boar! I'm leaving."

He said no other words as he watched the sassy orangette leave the spacious room.

The door closed with a resounding echo behind her.

* * *

"Mother of God Pariston, you can't just keep calling me until-"

"Rita dearest."

She almost wretched and snapped the phone in half right then and there.

"How is the previous order I gave coming along?"

She clenched her jaw. _-until I answer,_ she finished mentally. Taking a deep breath, she answered. "He doesn't seem to like me for some reason. I've barely even spoken to him five times. I'll have to see though, I just defended him in an argument."

An almost inaudible tsk came over the line through the receiver. "Can't be helped. Kurutas have always been extremely conscientious. He's the last survivor, so there's no helping it."

_Last survivor. _A pounding headache made itself known again.

"Conscientious?"

"You probably rubbed him the wrong way. They're very honor-bound; moralistic."

"How on earth could I h-" Rita thinks for a moment and realizes her character is not a very amicable one, what with her constant urge to smoke and curse and snap. He also might not have appreciated her intrusion. "Anyways, I need more time."

"How much?"

"Beats me. The youngest Zoldyck seems to have been captured, and I'd bet that he'll be tagging along with Ging's kid to go 'rescue' him."

Silence.

Usually Rita was a huge fan of silence. Very nice, very quiet, very soothing as opposed to the usual hustle-bustle that normally dominated her everyday life. However, silence with Pariston was never a good thing. It was unnerving, and it indicated that he was plotting something.

"I… have your okay to tag along with them right?"

More silence.

"Pariston?"

"Don't prompt me." He whispered. "I'm thinking."

_What the fuck about? _

"Alright, go ahead and tag along."

She released her breath.

"But nothing rash. In fact, don't even fight anyone unless it'll look strange if you don't. I'm sure everyone there already knows you're more skilled than they are."

"Alright."

"The next time I call you, I'll expect some information from you, Rita."

"No promises, Rat." She felt bile rise in the back of her throat.

The dial tone indicated that he had hung up. She took a deep breath and sat down on the pavement outside in the shade, putting her phone away and simply putting her back against a supporting pillar as she closed her eyes.

She could feel the anger and tension in the room she had just left, especially on Gon's part.

For a few fleeting moments, she allowed herself to drift off in a nice, easy sleep…

In vain.

"Interesting conversation you had there on the phone."

Rita's eyes snapped open. The voice had come from behind the pillar she was leaning against. "How long you been there, you freakish clown." It was not a question.

"Oh, only a few minutes. I just caught the goodbyes of your little… chat."

It was her turn to bristle.

"No worries. I have sealed lips." Hisoka same around the pillar and made the whimsical gesture with his thumb and forefinger across his lips. "No one to tell anyways."

"Fuck off, Hisoka."

"Oh my, and you were so friendly at the beginning of the exam too."

"Bored, is the proper terminology. I'm not a friendly person in general." _You've just pissed me off for the time being as well._

"That conversation over there might interest you." Hisoka motioned with finger and a card, and disappeared back around the pillar. When Rita stood up and looked, the clown was actually nowhere to be found.

"... where Killua is."

"Are you really going to take him away? That's not a good idea."

"I don't care what you think! Killua's my friend. I'm taking him with me."

"Do they feel the same way?"

Gon suddenly noticed Kurapika and Leorio standing behind in.

"Bet your ass we do." Leorio narrowed his eyes.

Illumi put a finger to his lip, pondering. "Hmmm, okay. I'll tell you. But I have a condition."

"What is it?"

"Take this one along with you." Rita stood appalled as Illumi pointed to her. She had been standing behind Kurapika and good distance away listening in.

Kurapika immediately narrowed his eyes. "Why? That's such an arbitrary condition."

"It's my condition." Illumi shrugged. "So?"

"That's fine." Gon's eyes shone with defiance. "She's strong too, so better for us!" He stuck out his tongue.

"Alright." Illumi relented. "I doubt you'll be able to make it there anyways. Killua went home."

"Home?"

"Kukuroo Mountain. Our family lives at the very top."

"Got it. Thanks." They quickly left, paying Rita no mind.

"Is it alright for an assassin to give away his base of operations?"

"Sure," Illumi said lightheartedly. "It's not a secret. The locals all know where we live. We live world's apart, and they'll see that soon."

Hisoka suddenly cocked his head to the side, looking at Illumi's forearm.

"Oh, this? Yep, it's broken. Gon did it."

Hisoka smirked, unable to repress his bloodlust; ot lust in general.

"Gittarackur," Rita stepped forward, senses heightened.

"Illumi is fine." The raven commented. "What is it?"

"Let me see your arm."

"Hm?" He seemed confused. "Why?"

Rita wordless grabbed it and let the energy in her body flow. Illumi watched with wide eyes.

"What are you doing?" And then, fifteen seconds later, "Why?"

"The Boar has charged me with the task of looking after his unholy offspring." Rita said snarkily. "I should take responsibility for what hormonal twelve-year olds are prone to do."

"Breaking arms?" Asked Hisoka.

"Typically their own, yes, but this is Gon we're talking about."

"... How did you do it?" The raven asked.

"Himitsu." Rita smirked. "By the way, thank you."

"Mm? Oh, no problem." Illumi answered.

"So then why did you help me out?"

"Well firstly to piss of Hisoka." He deadpanned, knowing that rita had one eye on Gon at all times during the exam, which had greatly, _greatly irked the clown._ "But in all seriousness, Killua swears he remembers you. I seem to remember you too."

Rita frowned at the unpleasant thought to remembering things. They often triggered migraines, which were unpleasant to say the least. "I don't remember you."

"Maybe you'll remember when you see the household. You were with the Phantom Troupe four-ish years ago, if I'm not mistaken."

She staggered backwards, already exhausted from giving Illumi some of her own internal energy, and now being bombarded with the information that Illumi recalled her _being a part of the Spider…_

"You are mistaken." She cleared her head. "Anyways, thank you." She glared at Hisoka. "Hands off of Ging's son, you dirty fucking…" She muttered as she walked away.

"He has a lot of potential…" Illumi said to Hisoka as they watched Gon.

_But that also makes him dangerous… _The assassin thought. _Now would be the best time to-_

"Gon is my prey." Hisoka let his nen go unbridled for a split second as a warning. "Touch him and you'll suffer consequences."

"I got it, I got it." Illumi sighed. "I've only known you for a short while, but I think I know your tastes… So, Hisoka, what will you do now?"

"Wait patiently…." He clenched and unclenched his fists.

Slightly freaked out, Illumi decided to calmly walk away.

TO BE CONTINUED.

* * *

**A/N: BABIES I'M SO SORRY, IT'S BEEN TWO LONG MONTHS! It actually seemed so, so much longer than that, because I've been totally swamped by homework and testing and it's actually AP season right now so I figured I needed to crank something out before I get swamped again. I know this chapter is short, and dumb, and poorly written, but still, tell me what you think, and what you might want to see next in the upcoming chapters. Again, I'm so sorry I made you guys wait for so long, I didn't know you waited for new chapters, I'm so flattered, holy crap. **

**Also, I'm sorry, I didn't have time so I didn't even proofread or put in the normal quotes like I usually do. I need to get to bed D: Sorry! I'll see you soon thought! Again, read and review :) **


	19. Pawn to C2

**Book 2: Malum**

**Chapter 19: Pawn to C2**

* * *

_A scar indicates that something is missing. You lost something important, and there's a hole in your heart. Having that empty hole can lead to anger, hate, despair, or... it can make you reach for the sky.  
\- Fuuko Kurasaki (Accel World)_

* * *

"Knight to B4."

"Rook takes knight."

"Pawn takes rook."

"Ahh," Marzio sighs as he reclines in his chair, bringing his heads to support that back of his neck as he closes his eyes to ponder. _Is that check?_

"No, it's not." Kuroro seems slightly amused; it's obvious that Kuroro has read his mind and answered him in time. "It's not check."

Thick Italian runs off of their tongues like it has been there all of their lives; for Marzio, he supposes it has, but Kuroro has had to learn, and sometimes, he surprises himself with how ethnic he sounds.

"Alright; let me think."

_Let it be known that the mental musings of Chrollo Lucifer are terrifying to say the least, _Marzio rumbles internally, having enough trouble as is trying to remember the placement of all of his previous placements. He has a general picture in his head as to where all the pieces are, but the titles of said pieces are the info he's having trouble recalling.

"I have my queen at F4?"

"That is correct."

"..." Marzio sighs. "That's it; I forfeit."

"If only things were so easy," Kuroro breathes, but it is obvious from the way that he too removes his hands from his chin, shattering his thoughtful pose, that the match is over. He is in neither a philosophical, nor argumentative mood tonight, and he is tired.

"You hold your liquor well."

"I have enemies." Kuroro points out. "But you couldn't possibly have shown up just for the sake of my priceless company. Let's get down to business, Marzio."

The Italian man chuckles as if this comment was meant to be funny -which it wasn't- and corrects his posture. He grabs the glass that had been sitting on the table and downs the rest of it in one go. "Let's get down to business indeed."

Kuroro grabs the bottle and pours his companion dearest some more.

"There's someone following me."

Kuroro blinks and, against his better judgement, pours himself another glass though he had sworn he would not five minutes ago. "Following you." He repeats back in Italian. "So where's the problem?"

"I don't know who it is."

"Try harder." The Phantom Troupe head suggests nonchalantly.

"Chrollo," he gives up on the entire proper posture facade and collapses back into the poofy chair behind him. "It's someone dangerous."

"And you're telling me this because…"

"Because he's dangerous."

"I'm not sending my Spiders after a certain man for you because you don't want to go to the trouble of facing him." The reply is stone-set.

"Heaven forbid," he snorts.

Silence.

It hits Kuroro like a pile of bricks and suddenly he has the vague notion this one bottle that Marzio has offered won't be nearly enough to help him out the ways he wants to be helped out.

"Your… _intuition?_" Kuroro ventures.

"It probably has something to do you with you, I'm guessing."

"Something to do with me." The wine tastes like shit, but it tastes like high-quality shit, so Kuroro doesn't complain. "Explain more."

Marzio throws his hands up in utter defeat and then runs them through his green-ish hair in frustration. "Beats me. He probably wants something to do with Maman."

The identifier brings back unwanted memories so Kuroro closes his eyes, not the type to display his irritation as openly as his friend. "It's a he?"

"Most definitely a he."

"This doesn't concern me-" He starts, but Marzio cuts him off.

"Yes it does." He's too serious all of a sudden, and the way he can quickly switch demeanors strikes Kuroro as extremely sly, if unprofessional. "It does."

"If it doesn't concern the Spiders, it doesn't concern me."

"Why are you even heading that ragtag group of bandits, Chrollo?" He seems to whine, rolling his eyes. "Come join me."

"And kowtow to some idiotic Boss who…" Kuroro is so disgusted by the idea that he trails off, at a loss for words.

"It's not that bad. Besides, what's the difference between the Mafia boss and you?"

"Intelligence, for one." Kuroro is actually deeply offended. "Power, for another. And aspirations."

"What aspirations? You're just going around stealing things."

"And you're just going around smoking cigars and playing rush-n-roulette in dirty bars." The leader murmurs back. "Anyways, Maman is dead, and there's no reason for anyone to be coming after you about her."

"Untrue."

Kuroro freezes. "What's untrue?"

"There might be one or two reasons…"

"Marzio Salvai Marchesi…" Kuroro closes his eyes. "What the hell is going on."

"A certain sword-"

His deep sigh cuts Marzio off mid-sentence, and deep sighs from Kuroro are never a good indication.

"Maman's acinaces." His eyes remain closed. "Where is it."

"In my possession."

"It was sold at the auction five years ago, was it not?"

"It was stolen in the commotion by a certain nobleman."

"And so you tracked it down?" His temper was being strained. "Why didn't you just leave it? We don't need that item connected to us."

"It was…" _Driven through a certain woman…_ But Marzio keeps his mouth shut.

_Ugh. _"So get rid of it."

"I can't."

"_Why?_"

"I just know I shouldn't."

Kuroro never had any trouble trusting Machi's intuition, but when it came to Marzio's he could never be sure. "Why don't you just give it to whoever's tailing you?"

"It's not that simple." He sighs, closing his eyes. "Besides, the sword is valuable and important and dangerous. It can't fall into the wrong hands."

At words like that, Kuroro cannot help but be slightly amused. _Wrong hands, _it was debatable that they Marzio's own hands were not secure enough of a place for the acinaces to stay.

"Marzio, this isn't my problem. I cut ties with Maman when I left to make something out of myself, and if I'm not mistaken, you did too. Let's finish up here so I can get back to my business and-"

"Chrollo."

The leader of the Geneiryodan closes his eyes and evens his breathing. "Marzio." He replies.

"How long have you been brooding over her death?"

The subject is a touchy one, a topic he prefers to avoid if he can, but with such a direct question, there's no point in trying to sidestep it.

"There's no point in discussing this." _But he can sure as hell can try to. _

"There's reasons to believe she might still be alive." The Italian deadpans, and at this, Kuroro finds that his temper that he is so proud of for being tame and controlled leaps like a tongue of flames.

"Can you drop it?" Kuroro says quietly, dead quiet, so quiet that it makes the silence more deafening than it already is. "Whatever that sword cuts cannot mend itself; if it was Maman's acinaces that was at the auction, then I probably used it myself to dispose of her. There's no way she's alive."

"The acinaces might deliver wounds that don't heal, but have you ever wondered why?"

"_For the love of god, Marzio-_"

"Hear me out, for once in your life, will you?" The tension in the room rises to a nearly unbearable level. "I know you're three times as smart as me with double the battle experience, but I know what I'm talking about when it comes to things like this."

Met with silence, Marzio took it for approval.

"We still have records on her.."

_Of course the Mafia does, it has records on every last rat on the face of the earth.._

".. and there's her healing ability to take into consideration."

"Her healing ability is something that might have helped her hang on for a few extra hours, but nothing more than that; it's not even a healing ability… it's an innate power where she can take life energy and use it as her own."

"It's something to take into consideration." Marzio pressed on. "And it seems that the misanthrope Ging Freecs has been sighted traveling with a female… who looks suspiciously like your former companion."

"I saw her while we were raiding the ruins." Kuroro rolled his eyes. "I'll admit they looked alike, but you're leaping to conclusions, like you always have." He stood up, finding his patience stretched beyond its normal capacity, itching to leave the room. "There are many look-alikes in the world."

"You won't even look into it?"

"No, I-"

"The sword itself creates a certain type of venom that shocks the body into stopping the formation of platelets so the victim can't heal himself. But she's always been immune to common poisons, and -"

"Maman never was the type to use _common _things in general. Let's stop this nonsense." The onyx-eyed man stands up and brushes himself off. "I'm leaving. _Other than this_, if you needed anything, send something my way."

Before Marzio can offer a word of protest, Kuroro is gone.

* * *

_"Unfortunately, in reality there is no situation where one can win merely by following the rules. There will be knights that break the rules, and even chess pieces that betray him."_

_-Ciel Phantomhive (Black Butler)_

* * *

Several hundred kilometers away, Rita is sitting in a room with a certain someone,

"This is a pawn. It moves one square at a time, except during its first move, when it can take two squares straight ahead, and when it captures another piece, in which case it must move diagonally."

The orangette sits in the dim lighting studying the curves of the piece. It is small, weak, defenseless; expendable. In the recesses of her mind, she imagines herself to be one of these, at the complete mercy of Pariston's emotional state and whim, as well as political standing.

"A pawn." She repeats, and the man across from her sitting down puts the chess piece back onto the eight by eight alternating patterns of black and white.

"This is your knight." He holds it up to the meager light source as well. "It moves quickly, in an L-formation, flying over your enemies. If you use it well, these will win you your battle." "To capture another piece with your knight, however, it must replace the square the opponent stands on."

Rita is getting a splitting migraine again, but at this point, she's realizing that these pains occur whenever something vaguely familiar comes up. The girl isn't sure if it's a sign that they're related to her life before Pariston, but she has nothing to lose, she's thankful, so she revels in the pain.

"This-"

"Your bishop." She blurts out without thinking.

"Veery nice," the man drawls. "And how does your bishop move?"

"Diagonally. It can't fly over other pieces, but it can turn the tide in an instant."

"This one?"

"A… Uhm… It starts with an 'R,' I believe."

"Rook!" He exclaims softly, holding up one finger in his other hand. "It moves in rows and columns, an advocate of regimented order. Think of it as your broom and dustpan."

"And next comes your queen…"

"Ah, a true witch, your queen." He chuckles. "Attests to the power of the woman. She moves in any direction you want her to, the most powerful piece at your disposal."

"The queen sacrifice…"

"I see some things are coming back to you, Rita."

"A few."

"The queen sacrifice, used to lure the opponent into wiping out your most potent piece in exchange for leaving their pieces in vulnerable positions."

"And your king."

"Your king, your most important, your weakest piece."

Rita takes a good hard look at the self-righteous chess piece in all of its glory with the cross sitting atop of it.

"Chess is a game of undying loyalty. You give your all to protect the king, who could never do the same for his subjects."

He speaks so poetically, it makes Rita sick.

"He moves one square in any direction of your choosing. When the king falls, so do his subjects."

"Alright, let's play." Rita narrows her eyes.

"No practices?" The man questions.

"I'm sure I've practiced for years before this. I just don't remember it yet."

"Alright."

Rita smirks. "Pawn to C2." She breathes.

Netero laughs, though it's more of a slow cackle than. "Pawn to D4."

* * *

"_It's not the goodbyes that hurt; it's the flashbacks that follow."  
\- Gray Fullbuster (Fairy Tail)_

* * *

"Oi, oi where have you been?" Leorio seems livid enough, face red and scrunched into an unsightly train wreck of anger. "We've been waiting for 45 minutes!"

"Mou, Leorio, it's fine, it must have been important if she was this late." Gon pipes up.

"We should have simply left her, and gotten a considerable head start."

The girl has the general impression that she won't have a smooth sailing start with the trio standing in front of her. Kurapika has his arms crossed coldly, obviously indicating blatant distrust and standoffishness toward her, while Leorio is positively steaming. Gon stands between them sheepishly.

"Well, we promised Gittarackur, so-"

"It's not like he would know!"

"But still!" Gon shouts back, pouting.

"I'm sorry, really." Rita, burying her own semblances of pride, raises both of her hands in a surrender pose. "I had to talk to chairman Netero for a few moments."

This seems to perk their attention, and Gon is the first to ask. "The chairman? What for?"

"Nothing important. There's something I needed to ask him about a certain board game."

"You seem awfully happy with yourself." Kurapika suddenly comments.

Rita feels a tic form on her forehead. _Yeah well if you just beat the chairman of the fucking Hunter Association in chess and regained part of your memory, you would be too, you arrogant asswipe._ "Just tired." She says in the least aggressive voice she can possibly muster. "Again, I'm sorry I kept you waiting. We're headed to Kukuroo Mountain, right?"

"Whatever," the suited man grumbles, as ill-tempered as ever, "let's just get going." He turns around to begin walking toward a blimp, but then hastily whips around for a moment. "And don't get in our way!" He points at her accusingly, _though she should probably be the one saying something like that._

But this is important, this is for Pariston, this is for Gon, and maybe she doesn't want to see Killua wind up anything close to his pathetic excuse for a brother, so Rita grits her teeth and merely nods once.

"Yahoo!" The green-clad little boy jumps a little and begins running toward the blimp himself. Rita, in turn, opts to simply trail behind the trio.

_Let's see where this leads us… I suppose…_

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

_Life is basically like a soap bubble. It rides on the wind, flying here and there... and before you realize it - pop! It's gone. When it's about to disappear, you think that you could've flown a little higher. But by the time, it's already too late.  
\- Gintoki Sakata (Gintama)_

* * *

**_A/N: Hi guys! Sorry, again, my updating pace has been shit :) Summer is a mere two weeks away however, so I'm hoping I can catch up again for you guys and begin updating weekly again. This chapter is also a bit rushed, as final exams are in a week, so I didn't get to really proofread, so it might be a bit confusing. _**

**_But you guys officially have a new character in your midst! ("Maman" means "mom" in French, btw). _**

**_If you have any questions, please voice them so I know what to clarify during the next update! Thanks for having stuck with me for an entire 19 chapters so far! :)_**


	20. Anxiety

**Book 2: Malum**

**Chapter 20: Anxiety**

* * *

"_People respect it when someone they are distant from is boring and harmless. However, they only like that person because he or she doesn't get in their way. No human would want to hang around a boring person."  
\- Featherine Augustus Aurora (Umineko no Naku Koro ni)_

* * *

"What are you scheming."

It's dead quiet, and from what Rita estimates, the clock had struck twelve approximately fifteen minutes ago. More than that, she's surprised that the Kuruta could tell that she was not truly asleep. Props to him.

"I'm just trying to catch some shut eye, little one."

He bristles visibly at the demeaning comment, clenching his fists.

"If I were you, I would keep those eyes under strict control, or at least pop some contacts into them." She motions with her chin toward his eyes. Rita knows it is against her best interest to continue to spite the boy in such a manner, but really, she hasn't had so much freedom and entertainment since the last time she had been separated from Pariston for three or four weeks at a time, and so she finds she can hardly help herself.

"Just to make clear, I don't trust you." He spits with venom laced in his voice, his irises fuming an enraged scarlet.

"After we save Killua, I'll take you to get some; contacts that is."

"After we save Killua I'd actually like to never see you again."

"Ah, of course." She nods with mock understanding. "That's understandable."

"Why are you here?" He demands angrily. "You hardly know Killua. In fact you've spoken to him a grand total of four times throughout the progression of the entire exam."

"I'm hurt." Rita sticks out her lower lip. "I'm good friends with the kid." Or so the silver-haired assassin seemed to think. He had insisted the two had met before, and Rita was beginning to realize that such a proposition was not nearly as far-fetched as she once thought it to be. "And besides, Gittarackur was the one who wanted me to tag along."

Kurapika only narrows his eyes further.

The girl scoffs to herself internally. If these children thought that the Hunter Exam was over and began to allow their egos to swell because of it, they were walking on thin ice. It was far from over, and in reality, the hardest portion of the damn thing had yet to even begin.

She was placing her hopes on somehow becoming a mentor for Kurapika, but was beginning to realize that with the amount of antipathy their relationship had started off, her chances were becoming narrower by the day; perhaps even by the hour.

"I'm here because I can be, and because I have ambitions, just like you do." She breathes on a more serious, reaching into her backpack and lighting a cigarette in her mouth. "They're not as powerful as yours, my ambitions, but it's still a powerful curiosity that moves me."

"Excuse me," a blimp aide dressed crisply in uniform suddenly pops out from nowhere and shoots her an icy glance, "there is no smoking on the blimp. We apologize for the inconvenience." She bows slightly.

Rita tsks and frowns. There's almost no place where she can fuel her addiction, her coping mechanism if one would, in peace anymore. "I understand. Sorry."

The attendant briskly leaves.

Rita takes one more very long drag and slowly puts out the light from the joint by taking the energy from it.

Kurapika takes one step back. "How did you do that?" He demands.

"Mm?" She asks, confused. "Do what?"

"You just-" He eyes her suspiciously. "How did you do that?"

"What, with this?" She lifts her useless cigarette. "It's something I've always been able to do."

"Put out a cigarette?" The blonde laughs sharply in disbelief. "Sometimes you have the feeling Illumi does; when you look at someone it's like you send something invisible to crawl all over them."

"Oh _that._" She supposes to the ignorant non-Nen user, that's what malicious Nen can feel like, like something slimy and disgusting and painful boring into you. She clears her throat and puts out her hand.

He seems confused.

Sighing in exasperation, Rita grabs his hands and urges him to stand still. She slowly activates her own Nen so as to not shock the poor child and envelops him in it.

"Th-This is.."

"The same damn thing that creep uses, but utilized in a beneficial way." Rita finishes his sentence. "So yes, I can be like Illumi when I want to, but I can also be this. My putting out that cigarette has nothing to do with this however. That's an ability I was born with; this is something I've learned."

The clock strikes one, bringing her back to reality, wrenching them from that strangely intimate moment.

"Why are you still up, boy?" She looks at him, this tiny child bearing the enormous burden of vengeance for his entire clan. "You should get your rest while you can."

"Why the sudden kindness?" He stares at her.

"Not kindness, more like common sense." She snorts. "Get some rest, like I was trying to do before you interrupted mine."

"You weren't sleeping." He points out.

"I don't get more than three hours of shut-eye at a time." He comments. "There's not that much of a point."

Rita vaguely contemplates the trauma that one needs to experience in order to be unable to get more than short bursts of respite, especially at that age. Though, she can't exactly blame him; she's in the same situation.

Gon and Leorio passed out about four hours ago and had been sleeping soundly. Rita doesn't like to sleep with newcomers firstly because it's hard for her to place her wholehearted trust in them, and secondly because if she is to be attacked, she can't have others restricting her movements. She came out into the hallway to admire the view at this time of night and she must say that she isn't disappointed.

As the blimp travels above the clouds, Rita sees a beautiful tranquil in the sky. The moon is full and there are countless scores of stars in the sky one is unable to see due to city lights below cloud cover. The window is enormous and so Rita can stargaze to her heart's content. The blimp was quiet, an added bonus until Kurapika also exited the room and sat next to her on the bench in front of the window.

She had been slightly offended, as Kurapika hadn't struck her as the type to hurl baseless accusations around carelessly. But it was only natural that he distrusted her; she had been extremely rude from the get go.

"Kurapika…" She blinks several times. "I was thinking… If you ever need any help with anything…" She scratches the back of her head, never having been all that great with words.

Her diction puts him on the immediate defensive again; though not visibly, Rita senses him tense up. The notion of confiding in someone must be as painful for the blonde as it is with her.

"Thanks." He says stiffly, turning around as well. "I'll see you in the morning." And then he abruptly walks away.

Rita closes her eyes in frustration. That could have gone better.

* * *

_Those who close their eyes to the past, become blind to the future.  
\- Juzo Okita (Spaceship Battleship Yamato)_

* * *

"A tour bus?" Rita asks, crossing her arms. "Why don't we just go ourselves?"

"A tour bus would be a lot easier," Kurapika says pointedly, holding her with his gaze. "We wouldn't have to cover as much land, and we could conserve our strength. After all, I doubt his family will let him come waltzing right back with us should we manage to get in there."

"Kurapika's right," Leorio pipes up, for once without any palpable aggression in his voice. "The bus will take us up to where his family is. From what I can see, Kukuroo Mountain is surrounded by a dense forest. Who knows what's in there."

Rita closes her eyes to ponder for a moment, and nods to give her consent. "Okay, that makes sense. Let's grab a tour bus and get going."

Thirty minutes later finds them on a loosely packed bus with a very loud announcer who doesn't stop talking.

Rita looks at Gon and sees his fidgeting quite palpably. _He must be anxious to get his friend back_, she thinks to her herself. He had been abnormally quiet on the way here too.

"Rita-san."

"Mm?" She turns toward the voice that called her name. Lo and behold, it is the sassy blonde. "Oh, Kurapika, what is it?"

She realizes that it is the first time he has ever addressed with a respectful honorific, and this surprises her. Now that she actually thinks about it, it is the first time he has said her name to get her attention.

"I feel as if I misjudged you during the Hunter Exam," he admits, looking at the floor of the rumbling bus.

It is awkward as the silence looms heavy. They are sitting behind Gon and Leorio, and though there is some chatter between passengers, it is for the most part, very very quiet.

"There's no need to apologize," Rita jumps in, nearly flabbergasted. "I could say the same about myself."

"I suppose I didn't stop to stop to consider your situation," Kurapika continues. "It didn't occur to me that you might have your own reasons to have taken that exam, and perhaps even your own reasons to want to see Killua again. I'm sorry."

She hates situations like these. She laughs uncomfortably: "Kurapika please, don't apologize, it's really okay. That's usually how most of my friendships start out. I'm not a very agreeable person most of the time, so it was only natural."

"If you don't mind me asking, it feels as if you're looking for something. You're always deep in thought. What is it that you're searching for?"

At this, the girl takes a heavy breath and searches for the words to innocuously answer his important question. "I…" She scratches her head. "I'm looking for peace of mind."

_Aren't we all,_ she retorts snarkily to her own response.

"I mean," she herself fidgets as well, "what I'm trying to say is… I lost my memory about four years ago." Rita finds she cannot make eye contact with him anymore; talking about her amnesia has always been hard for her. "I'm still looking for pieces that can trigger it again."

"Four years?" He frowns at this, confused. "Retrograde amnesia recedes by the two month mark at its latest in most cases."

"It's frustrating," she confesses, "not knowing who I really am. I'm certain Rita isn't my true name either. But after three years of fruitless searching, I think I'm finally beginning to find some leads. Just yesterday, I got to talk to chairman Netero about something."

"Is that why you were late?"

She nods. "It was about a board game I used to play. It was always with the same person, always." She looks out the window. "He was very kind, and incredibly intelligent. I don't remember who it was, and even in my dreams, he's figureless, but I remember being very fond of him." Then she swallows, being snapped back to reality. "I-I'm sorry, this must sound silly to you-"

"I don't think it's silly at all." For the time first, Rita sees him smile tenderly. "I think it's important to have people dear to you. And I'm glad you decided to tell someone like me."

"Do you have anyone dear to you?"

The air suddenly turns very thick. "..."

"You don't have to say anything," she jumps in. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"No, it's good for me, talking about the past. I should practice more anyways." He laughs in a forced way. "My clan was slaughtered by the Phantom Troupe a while back. I want to reclaim my brethren's eyes. They turn in their graves," his hands clench in his lap, "they want their eyes back."

_A vendetta? At his age? _

"The Phantom Troupe," she breathes,and suddenly, her fingers itch like mad for a cigarette; but, of course, there is no smoking on the bus. "The Geneiryodan, was the group responsible for my memory loss." She swallows. "A detestable pack of thieves." _Who stabbed me against a tree and left me for dead. Guess I wasn't worth much. _

"Ah!" The announcer's shrill voice pierces their strangely intimate moment. "We're here everyone!"

Rita suddenly flushes, appalled at her lack of self-control. Normally she is very closed off from other company, and for good reason too. Should anyone find out about her origins -origins used loosely in this concept, as her origins entailed what she's certain would have been petri dishes and test tubes- there would be no end to headaches and running from Mafia scum, she's sure. And then Pariston, _oh Pariston would have her head for it. _

She's glad though, because between Kurapika and herself, they've overcome the initial wave of general dislike and antipathy. Still, the blonde has such a mature way of sitting there and listening, giving feedback every once in awhile… She has not had such valuable company since… Well, from she can remember, since before the memory wipe, since she had had a valuable chess companion who she cannot recall.

Slowly, they file off of the bus, and when Rita steps outside, she is hit full on the face with a powerful gale of wind. There are dragons that sit atop the massive, perhaps steel gates that impede the path to Killua. Immediately, she begins to analyze.

There are two men, obviously dressed to pick a fight, and the rest of the fifteen-ish of them are simple, innocuous tourists. The entire 'base of operations' as Illumi and tour guide had so eloquently put it, emits an extremely… intimidating sort of feel, as if to ward off any of the faint of heart. Next to the guard station are two, locked, wooden double doors. Obviously _not _the way to go, if common sense held any footing at all here.

"That's really something…" Leorio blinks rapidly several times as he shields his eyes with his right hand.

"This is the front gate of the Zoldyck estate," the tour guide motions with her hand as other tourists go mad snapping photos. "Also known as the Door to Hades, because no one who's entered has ever returned alive."

_Prepare to be shocked by the anomaly that is Gon Freecs,_ Rita rolls her eyes so hard she's sure they'll fall out of her head. _If he's anything like his father, the kid'll smash that record. _

"To enter," the woman drawls on, "You must enter via the double doors next to the security checkpoint, but the area beyond the gate is private property so we can't proceed."

_My ass, you need to either scale the wall or go in ostentatiously. _

Leorio raises his voice in disbelief; and indeed, it warrants disbelief, and also a major irritation for the orangette. There is still quite the distance to scale should the posse of four somehow manage to cross the gates, a major test in and of itself.

The rowdiness from the two "tourists" from the back of the bus before snap Rita from her mental musings.

Ten minutes later finds them as skeletons before the wooden double doors, a product of having bullied the key to the wrong door out of the security guard. The rest of the tourists scurry off out of sheer panic.

"We're good," Rita waves them off with a scowl. "We're staying, since we have to get inside." Kurapika and Leorio, she's not too sure about however; they seem just as terrified themselves.

"Well," the security guard scratches his head, confused, after the tour bus leaves them behind. "Why don't you come inside?"

And the four are obliged to do so.

"What brings you four here, all so determined to get a glimpse of what's beyond those double doors?"

Kurapika pipes up before Gon does, which Rita is silently thankful for. The blonde is more level headed, and perhaps a bit better with words than the twelve year old, and though his natural charisma might charm some, she doubts it'll do much to sway a bodyguard of the Zoldyck's.

"We're here for Killua. It seems as if his older brother forced him home against his will; hypnosis, perhaps, or simple terror might have done the trick. Regardless, it wasn't pleasant."

"I see," the guard smiles tenderly, and Rita feels her heart clench badly for some unknown reason; the elderly smiling face elicits physical pain near her heart, but she makes no outward indication of it. "You're young master Killua's friends. I've worked here for twenty years, but this is the first time any friends have come to visit."

They sit down.

"Hey, old geezer." Rita sighs. "It's okay if I have a smoke here right?"

"Yes, yes," he relents, letting his tea cool. "Help yourself, but keep away from the young ones. The smoke is bad for the lungs."

"Young ones?" Leorio snickers. "How old are you Rita-san?"

"More than double Gon's age. Probably near the creepy clown's age." She closes her eyes and sits down in a corner of the small, cramped room, lighting a joint. "Now shut up and stop gloating. I know I'm old."

The three balk and begin to giggle.

And with this, Rita falls asleep for thirty minutes.

Strange. She hadn't had a sleep so fulfilling in over several months. Strange.

* * *

_Everyone, everything is happy!  
\- Alois Trancy (Black Butler)_

* * *

"You don't seem yourself lately Chrollo."

He doesn't like the way the other pronounces his name. It is too smooth, like it doesn't mean anything. If there's anything he learned in Meteor City, it was the value of a name. Everyone else with the Japanese tongue had always said the deliberate Ku-ro-ro, three distinct syllables; but here, the man's Russian tongue shortens it to two, truncates it, and it feels as if it's cutting into him.

"Enlighten me." Kuroro feels the heavy glass in his hand and swirls the bourbon around; he's taken a total of two sips, and he doesn't think he'll be taking many more tonight. "Talk to me, Peter."

It's so _bright,_ much to the well-hidden irritation of the Phantom Troupe head. He closes his eyes.

"You just seem like you're missing something; one would think you'd lost your dominant hand."

He resists the terrible urge to pour the bourbon on the nobleman's hand and march out of the party right then and there. _Exquisite choice of words… _But he reminds himself that he is a guest in Peter Dimitrova's presence, and he is not here for idle chatter, nor is he here for the expensive alcohol, as wonderful and absolutely disgusting it is; he is here for information.

"You could say that." He takes another sip. Kuroro will not admit it verbally, but he's debating the possibility that he has a drinking problem. "Continue."

"You've always been a quiet person Chrollo," he inwardly cringes. "But now it seems… you're not quiet, you're reticent."

"Forgive my ignorance, but aren't those two the same thing, my Lord?"

"Reticence is a more permanent silence, and it eats away at a person. It is defined as the act of hiding one's feelings, often synonymous with introvertedness." The noble finishes his glass and pours himself some more; how he can keep his consciousness after all of that undiluted alcohol is beyond Kuroro, but as long as he gets what he came for…

_Eating away at me is right, _he thinks to himself. _How the mighty have fallen. _

"Talk to me, my friend." He is rudy in the face and all smiles. "What's troubling you so?"

Kuroro finds he cannot answer directly.

"It's been so long since we've last sat down and had a talk."

"I exchanged words with you just two weeks ago my Lord."

"Ah," he waves his hand in the air as if to dissipate the thought, "But _that _was over the phone, and is altogether very different from face-to-face contact. And the last time you met me was little over five years ago, was it not?

_Four,_ he thinks bitterly, laughing inwardly, but he nods. _Four years ago at the Zoldyck estate where I fought Silva. _And he tries to associate the event with the assassin in order to keep himself from associating it with another someone.

"Speaking of which, where is your companion? She was quite a beauty."

"She couldn't be here today." Kuroro simply opts to stare down at his cup. "Occupied with something."

"A shame. Ah, Chrollo I see; you need a woman."

"Preposterous." He scoffs. "I consider myself married to my work, and even that is pushing the boundaries of my capability for sentiment."

"Bah! Sentiment, who needs something like that! I meant someone to clear your mind of all the… _That,"_ the lord gestures at Kuroro's head, "swirling around in there. You must get tired, denying yourself of human solace every once in awhile."

The concept amuses Kuroro to no end, surprisingly. "Lord, I am a Spider first, a human second." And the phrase stings his tongue much more than he thought it would for having said it for merely the second time.

"You are so hardened to to the world; hold someone soft for once!" Peter Dimitrova gets up; Kuroro does the same out of some semblance of nominal respect. "Take your pick; I'll introduce you two."

Again, Kuroro is reminded of how much light there is in the enclosed space and it is slightly overpowering; he and his Spiders are so accustomed to the nocturnal workings, the Underworld of businesses, the dim lighting of their bases of operations…

As much as he hated to admit it, Kuroro was in dire need of reckless company, and Dimitrova owed him for numerous things -though the reverse also held true. The Lord was known for extravagant parties -extravagant, pronounced _risqu__é__-_ and so he had simply invited himself, for he knew he was always welcome.

"Lord Dimitrova…" He protests, but is cut off.

"I insist." The lord holds up his hand to Kuroro. "Now let me think, let me think." A pause; and then: "Anastasia, she's young and healthy; quite the stamina…" He rambles on and on, and Kuroro closes his eyes once more, this time in utter exasperation…. Women? Why? He wasn't interested in women, and certainly not for any cosmetic reason… Much less for comfort away from the stresses of his life. Kuroro had made his decision and he would have to atone for it.

"...formation broker, and the-"

"Say that again." He was suddenly on high alert.

"Information broker." The lord frowned.

"That woman?" Kuroro blinks. She's easy on the eyes is certain, figurewise that is, but she is dressed so ostentatiously, head to toe in bright red, the color of the flame he once knew so well. "An information broker? Specializing in what?"

"They call her Lady Liquorice. No one know's what her real name is, but she's very informed… In everything really. Especially underground dealings."

"The Mafia?"

"Oh yes," he laughs. "That's where she hails from. I'm sure she knows more about your half-brother than you yourself do."

_And let's keep it that way, for Heaven's sake. _

"Do you fancy her?"

"Fancy, sir? No sir." But Kuroro cannot keep the half-smirk off of his face.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

"_My heart was entwined in a spider web. You'll always be my Highness. I wanted your love."  
\- Alois Trancy (Black Butler)_

* * *

**A/N: Wow, fast update this time. I was trying to put off studying for exams and this was the result haha. So this is the best writing I've cranked out (in my opinion) and several weeks... Maybe even months. And it's more than a thousand words longer than the previous chapter, so I hope this makes up for a little bit of the writing I _won't _ be doing in the next two or three weeks, hhahaha (im sorry -.-). **

**Guys I hit chapter 20! Thanks for your continued support :) It means a lot to me. Please continue reviewing, it makes me so so happy when I get feedback 3 I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) UNTIL NEXT TIME ~**


	21. The Devil Himself

**Book 2: Malum**

**Chapter 21: The Devil Himself **

* * *

"How do you feel?" He speaks in flowing French.

"I'm always tired." She responds, though her accent is more detectable than Kuroro's is.

"As am I. I'm glad we have something in common."

"Ah-" She says abruptly. "Isn't it common courtesy to buy a girl dinner before trying to take advantage of her?" She pushes the wine away.

"I wasn't aware you could be intoxicated so quickly."

"Well, aren't we sassy. I never said that, pass the alcohol."

"Isn't it common courtesy to ask a man his name before asking him to do something for you?"

She eyes him slyly from the side. "I like you," she says coyly, "you're just my type."

The room is chilly and dimly lit, but overly extravagant. The mattress seems to sink beneath them like it doesn't even belong there, the way _he definitely doesn't belong here._ Lord Dimitrova had so graciously provided them with a room, which Kuroro thanked him silently for.

The implications the nobleman had made were raunchy, and tasteless at best, and if only he knew why Kuroro had been so willing to spend the night with Lady Liquorice -again, a very tasteless name- Dimitrova wouldn't have been so eager to shove them into the room together.

Slowly she downs the wine, sitting on the bed. "So. What _is _your name?"

Kuroro takes off his heavy jacket and sits down next to her. "If I told you, you'd go running."

"Mm? You lack so much faith in me."

"I've only just met you sweetheart."

"You must read Hemingway."

"I do."

"You speak like him. Don't say that anymore though."

"Why not?"

"It sounds wrong on your tongue. Like you're not used to saying it."

"What's your name?"

"The lady asked first, and she shall receive."

"You must stay."

"I won't go."

"My name you said?"

"Yes."

"Luciano." The Troupe Leader breathes. "But I can't tell you my last name. So tell me yours."

"Lelia." She says, but she accents the second syllable too hard, too forcefully, and Kuroro knows she is lying; he does not blame her. He has not told her his real name either, though it is a spin-off of his surname. Lelia is a distinctly European name, and she speaks it in the tones of the Middle East.

"Well Lelia." He takes the wine glass from her hand and takes a sip from it. After nibbling on bourbon, the wine is sweet to his tongue. "You look dashing in red."

"It's my favorite color."

There is no emotion, no passion in the room. Here is a battle of wits, two geniuses and empty people competing to see who will succumb to their human desire first.

He puts the glass on the bedside drawer after downing the rest of it.

"I'm offended." She looks away from him.

"And why is that?"

The two bodies shift sensually, electrifying contact.

"It's like you're trying to make sure you're not entirely conscious for our little… our little adventure."

"You lack so much faith in me." But with a start, he realizes he has been doing just that, trying to get so drunk out of his mind he cannot feel a thing. He does not know how to take it that a stranger knows him better than he knows himself.

"You're awfully good at spitting words back."

"I'm not good at much else, unfortunately."

"Now, I'm sure that's not true."

They somehow find themselves in the middle of the bed, as opposed to edge, where they had been seated five minutes ago. Lelia's hands begin to unbutton Kuroro's shirt. "Lord Dimitrova told me something." She seems to pout.

"How coincidental. He told me something as well."

"A vixen man," she smiles as she slips the shirt down his shoulders, "but he says you miss someone."

"He must be mistaken." Kuroro comments.

"I think he rather hit the nail on the head with that one."

"Mm? Any Evidence for your conjecture?"

"Your pupils stay small; you don't hesitate to touch, but your face is kept away from mine, nor do you expose your neck, a common characteristic of human attraction; and your hands are cold."

"Cold, scientific analysis I see. Well done. However, what do my hands have anything to do with this?"

"You have no one to keep them warm, Mr. Lucifer."

Kuroro sits up and chuckles. "I was naive to think you wouldn't know me."

"Who doesn't know the infamous Phantom Troupe Leader, feared and hailed as-"

"No sycophantish talk, please, it nauseates me."

"You hate yourself." She says this matter-of-factly, and a matter of fact it is, for Kuroro has never hated anyone so much as himself in the entire course of his life.

"I used to love someone."

"Come." She pulls him by the forearm and he obliges. "What did Dimitrova tell you about me?"

"He says you're an information broker." Kuroro pushes her down onto the mattress and feels the alcohol begin to cloud his thoughts.

"I should have known a man like you would be after information."

"Are you disappointed?" He asks as he holds himself over her.

"Not at all; it's what I'm used to."

He takes a moment to pause, to sort of look her over and unconsciously, subconsciously compare her to another woman he used to know.

"Lelia," he tests, and with a smirk, realizes that the taste is all wrong. "Lelia."

"Chrollo," she answers back, amused, eyes twinkling with all of the information Kuroro doesn't have. He absentmindedly wonders what the hell he has against his own name; Chrollo is his name in fact, but he prefers the stocky version of it.

"What would you like to know, Leader?"

He flinches inwardly but refuses to bat an eye. The woman is obviously someone who hails from the Middle East. She does look rather appealing in the bright red she has clad herself in, if overly flaunting. But it had been a _party, _and Peter had been the one who had thrown it; ostentatiousness was not out of the norm.

Her skin is dark but rich, and it strikes prettily against her bright eyes; she is of mixed descent, apparently.

"Tell me about a certain sword."

"Mm, you've got to be a bit more specific than that, I'm afraid. Does it have a name? An infamous owner?"

"An acinaces, sold at the world's largest auction four years ago."

Lelia's eyes flutter shut in thought; Kuroro pushes her down onto the bed.

"I seem to recall…" She murmurs as she begins to take her outerwear off. "You ought to do something to help jog my memory."

"Aren't you scared of me?" Kuroro asks.

"Yes, I am." But she smiles in such a sly way Kuroro has no idea if she's telling the truth or not. The woman does not seem to know Nen, but it can never hurt to be cautious. "Terrified really. But I'm also incredibly interested."

He shifts. She shifts.

"Mm, yes, Anat's Acinaces. Rumored to leave wounds that do not heal. Rather unwieldy, I've heard." Lelia pretends she does not feel the man stiffen by a fraction.

"Do you know who has it?"

"Are you testing me, Chrollo Lucifer?"

"I am, Lady Liquorice."

"Hmph. Your half-brother Marzio Marchesi has it in his possession."

"I must admit, you've impressed me."

A flurry of movement.

"Should I be flattered?"

"No need."

"Shall we play a game?"

"I do-" A break. "-enjoy games."

"If your mastery of chess has anything to say for it, I'm sure you do." She laughs. "Now… Which is the lie? One, the Boar of the Hunter Association's Zodiac has been sighted with a female partner." Her inhale hitches. "Two, Dimitrova warned me about your tendencies in bed. Three, your half-brother has taken a peculiar interest in the Boar's companion. Four, one of your Troupe members will betray you in the coming future. And five…" She eyes him coyly from beneath his countenance. "I love you."

Kuroro remains quiet for a solid fifteen seconds; to him, the lie itself is apparent, the lattermost comment, of course, but to think… Well, at least she made it easy for him.

"Now, how could you possibly know whether a Spider will turn their back on me?"

"I am an information broker Chrollo, where do you think I get my information?"

He thinks, stilling himself. Slowly Kuroro runs his fingers through her long brunette hair; it is too long, and though it is softer than anything he has touched in the last half-decade, it does not satisfy him. "You are a fortune teller." He realizes.

"Not quite."

"A clairvoyant, perhaps?"

Laughter sparkles in her eyes again. "Very well done."

"A nen ability? But I sense no palpable aura from you."

"Part of my charm." She flaunts.

"Who will it be?" Kuroro asks. "That betrays me?"

"Convince me to tell you. In the meantime, is there not another truth that shocks you?"

"Marzio…" Kuroro thinks. "Why is he looking at the girl?"

"Mr. Marchesi has his doubts about her identity."

A wave of pure exasperation rolls over him. "After I had told him so fervently to drop the subject?"

"He never was the type to listen."

"And you would know how?"

"Ha.." She breathes, fingernails clawing into his shoulders. "I believe we went over that small piece of information." Air comes harder to both of them now as they move together.

"Not in particular depth."

"There is the fact that Marchessi, your half-brother, is my partner in underground dealings."

"Oh?" He piques up. "And what does Lady Liquorice deal in?"

"Opium." She deadpans, as her grip tightens. "Black market trade when necessary. And body parts."

"You're something else, aren't you."

A gasp. A hand flails out to claw at the bedsheets.

"Breathe, my lady." He closes his eyes, smirk audible in his voice as he brings himself to bury his face in the junction between her shoulder and her neck.

"You are the Devil manifested in a human body." She too, sneers as she composes herself. "Marzio Marchessi is a business partner of mine. Make no mistake however, his allegiance lies only with the Mafia. He wishes to regain control of that biological weapon that was lost four years ago…"

"Tch." Kuroro narrows his eyes. He should have seen that one coming.

"Still, you are caught in the eye of a very curious storm."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You will never understand." She sits up, brushing her hair behind an ear. "Don't try to. Simply accept."

"Please." He asks, though the word tastes like bile in his throat; he is unused to lowering himself to others, but when it comes to information, the game is entirely different. Simple torture had always been tacky and simply tasteless, more Feitan's playing field than anything else. Kuroro enjoyed games, mostly of wit, and sometimes to amuse himself.

He would be lying if he was to say this current predicament was not a part of them.

"You certainly know how to utilize your resources, Chrollo Lucifer. Very well; you have seen the Boar's companion once before?"

"I have." He admits, bringing the sheets around to cover his partner's shoulders. "For a grand total of perhaps two minutes."

"So you must know then."

He ponders this for a moment. What could this woman possibly expect him to have gleaned in such a brief amount of time?

"She was shrouded in darkness, was she not?"

"But aren't we all." It is a statement, not a question.

"Let me clarify. She is drowning in despair."

"I sensed deep anxiety."

"Why was that? Think for a moment, Mr. Lucifer; use that enormous intellect of yours."

"There are too many factors."

"When Marchessi asks me to read her, I understand that she feels as if she is constantly being hunted."

"By what?"

"By _whom,"_ she corrects him. "By whom, I ask you."

"By my half-brother, of course."

"Incorrect." She seems disappointed. "Someone is monopolizing her, someone I can't see clearly. I have yet to meet him."

"So she reports to someone. Perhaps an employer?"

"And employer would not incite such feelings of absolute revulsion from their subordinate. It is someone dangerous."

Kuroro blinks as he feels the words slam into him;

"_There's someone following me."_

_Kuroro blinks and, against his better judgement, pours himself another glass though he had sworn he would not five minutes ago. "Following you." He repeats back in Italian. "So where's the problem?" _

"_I don't know who it is."_

"_Try harder." The Phantom Troupe head suggests nonchalantly. _

"_Chrollo," Mazrio gives up on the entire proper posture facade and collapses back into the poofy chair behind him. "It's someone dangerous."_

"_And you're telling me this because…"_

"_Because he's dangerous." _

"_I'm not sending my Spiders after a certain man for you because you don't want to go to the trouble of facing him." The reply is stone-set. _

"_Heaven forbid," he snorts._

_Silence. _

_It hits Kuroro like a pile of bricks and suddenly he has the vague notion this one bottle that Marzio has offered won't be nearly enough to help him out the ways he wants to be helped out. _

"_Your… intuition?" Kuroro ventures. _

"_It probably has something to do you with you, I'm guessing." _

"_Something to do with me." The wine tastes like shit, but it tastes like high-quality shit, so Kuroro doesn't complain. "Explain more."_

_Marzio throws his hands up in utter defeat and then runs them through his green-ish hair in frustration. "Beats me. He probably wants something to do with Maman." _

_The identifier brings back unwanted memories so Kuroro closes his eyes, not the type to display his irritation as openly as his friend. "It's a he?"_

"_Most definitely a he." _

"_This doesn't concern me-" He starts, but Marzio cuts him off. _

"_Yes it does." He's too serious all of a sudden, and the way he can quickly switch demeanors strikes Kuroro as extremely sly, if unprofessional. "It does."_

"_If it doesn't concern the Spiders, it doesn't concern me." _

"_Why are you even heading that ragtag group of bandits, Chrollo?" He seems to whine, rolling his eyes. "Come join me."_

"_And kowtow to some idiotic Boss who…" Kuroro is so disgusted by the idea that he trails off, at a loss for words. _

"_It's not that bad. Besides, what's the difference between the Mafia boss and you?"_

"_Intelligence, for one." Kuroro is actually deeply offended. "Power, for another. And aspirations."_

"_What aspirations? You're just going around stealing things." _

"_And you're just going around smoking cigars and playing rush-n-roulette in dirty bars." The leader murmurs back. "Anyways, Maman is dead, and there's no reason for anyone to be coming after you about her."_

…

That had been an interesting conversation to say the least, and thanks to Marzio's recent meddling, some unneeded and rather painful memories had been dredged up. Marzio had always been like that though, difficult in letting things go, adamant in never letting them die as they should.

"You should listen to your instincts." The woman tells him, as if immediately understanding his train of thought. "They've gotten you this far."

He feels the incoming headaches that he will inevitably be forced to endure, as he so often had to do when in the presence of Marzio.

A certain stroke of felicitous luck was what she meant, but he understood her point nonetheless.

"Well, Luciano." She smirks, now that their little game had been played out to the fullest. "Let me tell you one more interesting bit of information before we part ways."

"I'm all ears."

"The world's largest auction in September in Yorkshin City." She says. "Your life will be changed there."

"As it was four years ago; Fate has me dancing in the palm of her hand." He nearly snorts.

"As she has with all of us, excepting perhaps a few individuals such as myself." She gets up and makes her way toward the shower. "It was nice meeting your acquaintance. I hope to do business with you in the future sometime again."

"Myself as well, Lady Liquorice."

* * *

"Goodness that was so tiring." Kurapika runs his fingers through his hair.

"Sure was." Leorio agrees. "Man, I'm sore all over."

"At least we've built muscle mass." The blonde replies. "Useful for later endeavors, of course."

"Mou, but Rita, you seemed very calm throughout that entire ordeal."

She clears her throat and takes a short drag from her cigarette. In order to spare their lungs, she walks a ways in behind of the trio. "Calm?"

"Didn't seem like you were struggling at all. The vest, the doors, or cups." The suited man babbles on.

She almost chuckles. "Call it my age, I guess."

After the gatekeeper had invited the four into his little cubicle where he stood watch everyday, as his job demanded him to, he had extended a peculiar offer: to stay awhile and train to open the testing gate, so they would not be hurt by Mike, the ridiculously large monster that lay in wait for them beyond the regular wooden double doors.

They took him up on it without a second thought of course, though Gon had not really enjoyed the idea of being tested, simply to see his best friend. But, it had been the quickest, and really, only way to go.

And so they had gone and done it, for a total of six days, if she remembered correctly, lugging things around, _heavy things. _For goodness sake, a simple teacup was twenty kilograms.

Rita had told herself she would suppress her nen as much as she could so she could partake in the rote muscle training, but her nen was inherent to her as she used it every day, so she found herself unconsciously using it quite often to lighten the load on her body.

"You're only three or some years older than me!" Leorio protests.

"Think of it what you will. Maybe just more experience." She shrugs. "In the end though, you three didn't even need me to open the testing gate."

"It was still helpful having you around!" Gon pipes up, making an effort to help her feel included.

She waves the effort away. "It's fine Gon. In the end, your arm is healed and you guys are totally fine without me. Just think of me as back-up. Moral support maybe." She scoffs at the idea; _moral support._

Upon having opened the testing gate and crossing the first hurdle, the four are heading up the mountain path. Rita knows more obstacles most definitely await them, and that they will only increase in difficulty, so the idea of her being back-up does not seem to be such a terrible idea.

They walk and talk for several more hours, Leorio complaining of muscle cramps, Kurapika serenely smiling upon the scene (like the mother hen he secretly is), Gon blabbing here and there, and Rita silently puffing on her cancer stick.

Gon is the first to notice and stops dead in his tracks when he sees an impediment on their path to Killua. Kurapika follows, and then Leorio and Rita.

The four see a small girl, perhaps Kurapika's height, well-dressed and bearing a staff with a yellow orb at the end of it. She opens her eyes and begins to speak: "Leave." She says in a commandeering tone of voice. "You're trespassing on private property."

_No mercy in that voice,_ Rita thinks to herself.

"I cannot allow you to pass without permission."

"We called ahead!" Gon protests, brows furrowing into a frustrated frown.

"You have not received permission from the butlers."

"We tried but they wouldn't put Killua on the phone!" The green-clad youngster answers. "What do we need to do to get permission?"

The girl's facial expression is free from any concern, or really, any emotion of any kind. She clashes with the environment around her harshly, Rita analyzes; she is dark-skinned, dressed in typical butler attire in what seems to be the middle of the dense forest with only one path through it.

"Well, I wouldn't know. No one has ever received permission."

This seems to piss Gon off greatly. "Then we'll have to trespass!" He shouts indignantly.

"I suppose you will. However, this is where I draw the line." Using her staff, she draws a deep line into the first before her. "If you cross this line, I'll have to remove you by force."

Kurapika and Leorio brace to fight, but Gon holds up one hand, and it shocks Rita, how easily, how quickly the two men let go of their fighting poses. The amount of trust between them is unreal, or really, unfathomable to Rita. After the three had been together for only several days throughout the course of the Hunter Exam, this powerful of a bond had formed.

Gon braces himself and walks toward the line the girl had drawn in the dirt. Unsurprisingly, she strikes him, hard, with her staff and sends him flying.

Rita wonders if the girl is using nen discreetly or if she simply has enough muscle to send an entire person soaring with one strike of her stick. As far as she can tell, there is no palpable nen coming from the little butler.

Gon gets up again and makes his way toward the line. He forcefully tells Kurapika and Leorio not to interfere. A repeat of the previous result happens.

Rita sighs, and sits down behind Kurapika to take a breather. She is aware this will take awhile.

And take a while it does; they are there until the sun begins to dye the blue sky a pretty purple, with the repetitive _whack_-ing noise coming every fifteen seconds or so. Rita isn't sure why Kurapika and Leorio feel so obligated to watch the entire scene when it's obvious it pains them greatly. They've gone stone cold, still as rocks, bodies rigid as they force themselves to take in the scene.

It is perhaps 7:30 in the afternoon when Rita feels the dip in determination. Pragmatically, Rita knows she can't blame the girl; to the eye, she seems only thirteen, fourteen, close to Gon's or Killua's age, and work for the Zoldycks or not, her humanity has not yet been beaten out of her.

When the four had first come face to face with her, the orangette had been genuinely concerned. Ten minutes of careful observation had blown that concern away with the wind, however; the girl wasn't pursuing, she was holding her ground, and that alone was enough to signify she really had no intention of hurting them unless they compelled her too. A lack of sheer ruthlessness, really, which worked to their advantage.

"Stop it." Comes the whisper. "Stay away!" More strongly.

Gon doesn't listen of course. Another whack. This time Gon doesn't fall, but skids backward on his feet.

_A weaker strike._

"What are you doing?" She finally breaks. "Why don't you stop him? Aren't you his friends-"

The tiny butler recoils after seeing the looks on Leorio and Kurapika's faces, which Rita is certain are enough to freeze anyone's blood over for a few seconds.

"What's the problem?" Gon slurs, face too swollen now to talk properly. "I'm just here to see Killua! Why do I have to do this?!"

With his bare fist, Gon smashes through the pillar right next to the girl. She takes three steps back, terror written on her face.

"Hey. I crossed the line." He seems to find small satisfaction in this. "Aren't you supposed to hit me?"

The only sound in the air for several tense seconds is the sound of Gon's heavy, labored breathing, perhaps a product of all of his pent-up rage and frustration. "You're different from Mike." He speaks softly now. "You may try to hide your feelings, but you have a heart. When I mentioned Killua, your eyes softened for just a moment."

This seems to physically hurt the butler, and she clenches her staff tightly. "Please," she lowers her head, as if in shame. "Help Killua-sama-"

Kurapika flinches and Leorio actually falls to the ground as an enormous wave of energy is sent out from the general direction of the little girl.

"What the hell was that?!" Leorio demands, scrambling to get back onto his feet. He opens his mouth to shout again, but there is another wave of intense energy.

A third and final, less intense shockwave ripples through the air, and Rita curses harshly. The dark-skinned butler hits the ground hard.

"Really," the incredibly irritated voice comes from the thicket of trees to the four's left, "she made it sounds like we were being _mean_ to Kil. A worthless apprentice," the disgust rolls freely off the tongue, "has the nerve to insult us."

"There!" Kurapika points, and Rita has to hold in her scoff at the ridiculous outfit the robotic looking woman is wearing.

_Where's that dress from, the Victorian Age?_

"You must be Gon." She smiles in a disgusting way. "I heard about you from Illumi. Killua knows you're here." This catches Gon's attention. "I have a message for you from Kil: 'Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it. But I can't see you right now. Sorry.'" She finishes.

_Well that's total and utter bullshit._

"And you."

Rita perks up. "Yes, me." She smiles.

"I've seen you before."

"Oh, I get that quite often. I think I had a look-alike who screwed around a lot around four years back." The sarcasm in Rita's voice is cut-throat. "I'm sorry to say I can't say the same."

"You've gotten stronger."

"Who are you, lady?" The orangette pulls back her hood and stares the woman down. "Are you starting something?"

Rita's electric glare startles the very young little figure beside the woman, who, for some reason, Rita suspects is not a girl, though he is dressed like one.

"Wouldn't dream of it." The woman turns around. "Ah!" She shrieks suddenly, the red dot that shows on top of her goggle-like objects over her eyes, that they suppose, serves as a seeing eye, widens for a brief moment. "Father, what are you doing! Don't do anything rash!" Her voice is so shrill, it pierces through the air. "He's only just come back!"

Leorio leans over to the fallen apprentice butler, who has a severe concussion right above her temple, and begins to examine it.

"Ah, why must Father be this way?" Panic laces her voice." The woman regains her composure strangely quickly. "Something has come up. So I bid you farewell."

"Please wait." Gon calls out.

She stops.

"We'll be staying in town for awhile. Please tell Killua."

She contemplates this for a bit. "Very well; I will. Kalluto. We're leaving." And then she briskly walks off. Said Kalluto stares at them for perhaps ten seconds longer. Rita doesn't like the sight of those wide eyes.

"Who are you?" He asks.

"Killua's friends." Gon replies.

"Friends…" He whispers.

"_Kalluto-chan! What are you doing?Get over here!_"

_Goddamn I feel bad for these kids, if that hag's their mother._

"Yes Mother." And Kalluto runs off.

"Ahh" Leorio scratches the back of his head. "I probably shouldn't say it, but these people creep me out. They were definitely lying about Killua's saying he couldn't see us. We should tail them."

"Yeah but then… She'll take the blame." Gon points to the unconscious apprentice.

Leorio curses again.

"I-" To their surprise, she stirs. "I shall take you to the butler's office."

"Don't move!" Rita exclaims and hops over to the girl. Tenderly, she places her arm under her head and helps her sit up. They lock eyes for several tense seconds, and Rita inwardly urges her to stay quiet.

"Thank you." She grimaces. "You're the one who negated her first two attacks weren't you?"

"You can hate me for that third one." Rita jokes.

"Eh?" Kurapika seems baffled.

It is Gon who explains. "Rita-san, you knew Killua's mother was there, right?"

"Hmm," the orangette says, "no. I sensed the little one, Kalluto, but not the mom."

"You stopped two of her attacks. That's what those shockwaves were."

"_Ehh?" _Leorio opens his mouth. "That was you?"

She waves the flattery away. "Leorio, you're a doctor right? Is there any internal bleeding?"

"She's fine, I examined her." Leorio responds. "A mild concussion, not as bad as it looks. Just gotta keep her upright."

"There is a phone that connects to the mansion." She holds her head as she speaks, as if it pains her greatly. If Zeno-sama is the one that answers…" She trails off, unsaid hope in her voice.

"Zeno-sama?" Gon questions.

"Killu-sama's grandfather."

"Well then, that really simplifies things. Shall we get going?" Rita slowly lets go of the apprentice. "Ah that reminds me. What's your name?"

The little butler looks at her for a moment before answering. "Canaria."

"How pretty," the orangette comments.

"Wait!" Gon exclaims, much to the grating irritation of the eldest. "We should wait awhile. Canaria might still be in shock."

"No," she stands up in response, dusting off her suit, "I am fine, if a bit embarrassed at my own ineptitude. Let's get going."

Canaria stands in front of them, Rita at the back due to her habit, and the original trio walk in a small crows as they all trek onward. The butlers office is not visible yet, so there must be a ways to go, so Rita mentally braces herself. They have a long walk ahead of them.

"Ne ne, Rita-san!"

She closes her eyes. Did Ging's kid ever run out of energy? The chick he banged must have had a lot of spunk to make up for his misanthropic attitude in Gon.

"Yes, Gon?"

"About what you did back there-"

Rita swiftly places a hand over Gon's mouth, gaze suddenly razor sharp. "If we're going to talk about me, keep it down. There are people watching."

"Eh?" Gon seems perplexed by this information. "Where?"

"I don't know." She nearly snaps. "Maybe not watching, but definitely listening. _Anyways, I don't know, _it could be the Zoldyck family, or maybe the butlers, but we're not alone."

"Okay." He whispers, hunching over just a slight bit. "About what happened when Killua's mom showed up…" He cocks his head, eyes as bright as ever. "That was fire wasn't it?"

She casts a sideways glance at him. _Impressive. _

"How'd you know?"

"How did I know?" He looks up and places his index finger to his chin. "I mean, it was pretty fast… After first I wasn't sure I was seeing correctly." He shrugs. "Well, I felt the heat. And… I'm not sure, I just thought it was." The green-clad bundle of energy grins. "But it was white." Then he suddenly frowns. "So I was confused."

"Ne, Gon, you know an orange-red flame is the coldest flame there is right?" Rita distances herself from him as she exhales billowing smoke from between her lips.

"_Really?_" He asks, even more perplexed now. "How did you do it? That was so cool!"

She clears her throat. "You'll learn about _how _I did it later."

"What do you mean? Will you tell me later?"

"No, it'll be someone else."

"Who?"

"Beats me."

"You're lying!"

"Hey that's rude. I'm not."

"Then how would you know someone will tell me if you don't even know who they are?"

She looks at him.

_Because you're Ging's son. And there's no doubt in my mind you'll pass the final phase of the Hunter Exam. _

"Because I just know. You can hold me to that." She smirks.

He pouts, frowning.

They continue on.

_Ne, Gon, you know a white flame is the hottest flame there is. Right?_

**TO BE CONTINUED **

* * *

**A/N: Hi! It's been a while since I last updated, haha, I'm so sorry =_=. I thought things would die down when summer hit, but on the contrary, I've been busting it to try to study for SAT Bio and Math 2, and quite frankly, I'm dying. How was this chapter, you guys? I know the beginning position might have shocked some of you, teehee. **

**I also know you guys are dying because you think the reunion is taking forever. I just want to say, that's kind of the point. But! I promise, I'll make it worthwhile, so please stick around :) **

**Please drop reviews! God I love reviews ;^; And for that wonderful anon ("bruh", or whoever lol), your comments made me die with happiness. ;^; You have the character analysis down and everythING I'M SO GLAD IT YOU GOT IT. **

**Thanks for reading! Thanks for sticking with me! Love ya'll! Good night :) **


	22. Benedict Arnold

**Book 2: Malum**

**Chapter 22: Benedict Arnold**

* * *

"_This world revolves around two views on the same thing. In addition, it's about laughable miseries."  
\- Himura Yuu (ef - a tale of memories)_

* * *

The slight illumination of Pariston's watch from his wrist alerts him that the time is about a quarter past midnight. He slowly rises from the chair he has been occupying and stretches noiselessly, like a feline. A dangerous gleam is present in his eyes.

The blonde three-star Hunter briefly considers calling Rita for an update, but he remembers the threat he made last time.

_The next time I call you, I'll expect some information from you, Rita…_

And that had been right after she had completed the Hunter exam. She had informed him she would be tagging along with the Boar's son and a certain scarlet-eyed blonde to fetch the young prodigious assassin.

He takes in a deep breath and makes an effort to quell his impatience. The month is June, and his deadline is September. Perhaps around August would be the best time to acquire his item by…

"Tch."

Against his better judgement, Pariston flips open his phone and presses his number 2 on speed dial.

It rings itself out, and then the expected voicemail comes on…

_It's Rita. I'm obviously not available right n-_

Quickly, he hangs up and dials again.

On the third dial, the customary, angry, gruff, "Hello," comes crackling through the receiver.

Before he can speak, the female rushes at him. "I can't exactly talk freely right now."

"I'm well aware," the three-star Hunter says pleasantly, "but you can accommodate, I'm sure. I need an update."

There is a very tense silence that lasts for several seconds. "I'll call you back in thirty seconds. Let me get away from them."

The dial tone signals that she has hung up.

He decides to sit down on the couch in his office. He doesn't like to keep the lights blazing, especially not this late at night, since he doesn't need to be any more conspicuous than he already is. Not that it matters, since any experienced Nen user could easily tell that he is present in the room with a quick once-over but…

His shrill ring tone cuts through the air.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't call back."

"The one thing I try not to do is piss you off, Rat." He doesn't need to see her to understand that she is either grimacing or sneering.

"Now, about that information update…"

"On the little Kuruta boy, right?" She sighs. "Well, let's see. I think our relations have improved by at least a little. On our trip here, we had a rather heartfelt talk."

"Any indications on his long-term goals or plans?"

"Not particularly… But I think he has some sort of vendetta…. against the Phantom Troupe. They apparently killed his entire clan some six or odd years ago."

"Is it jogging any memories, Rita?"

He hears her shift uncomfortably on the other side of the line. "Triggering headaches yes, but not really any memories. I'm running into all these people that say they've seen me before but I have no idea who they are."

"Oh? Like who?"

"Like the Lady of the Zoldyck household."

"Hmm… You might have met her before… Though I'm not entirely certain. Ne, Rita?"

"What is it."

"Are you sure it's okay for you to be waltzing around with the same hairstyle as you had before your amnesia?"

"Do you want me to change it?"

"No," he laughs, though the sound of Pariston trying to do anything remotely good-natured makes Rita sick to her stomach, "I wouldn't dream of trying to tell you how you should look physically. All I need is your services. I'm merely looking out for your well-being."

"Don't be so fake Pariston, it won't get you anywhere."

The Hunter reminds himself that this animosity she bears toward him can only be natural, since she has no other outlets, and of course, to her, it must look as if he is the antagonizer.

"People are recognizing you, is all I'm saying."

"Maybe it's not a bad thing."

"Hmm…" He contemplates this possibility before switching the subject of their conversation. "Is there anything else you know about the Kuruta?"

"No." There is a brief silence. "Why are you so interested in him anyways?"

"The same reason why I'm always ever interested in any subject matter."

"Your… _patrons…_" And she mutters this with a certain degree of disgust he can feel through the receiver. "Am I getting myself involved with a patron who dabbles in the black market? I don't agree with leading the last survivor of the Kuruta Clan to his death with my own hands."

"Don't worry Rita-chan," he sing-songs, and then his voice suddenly turns very grave: "I'll be doing all the leading."

"Tch." She spits. "Is there anything else you needed from me?"

"Just a request for you to hurry back. Though I won't hesitate to call you if I do require something."

"Try to keep your needs to a minimum," she hisses coldly. "I'm with Ging's kid, and I swear to god, he has the senses of the devil; nothing gets by him."

_Not surprising… If a bit irksome… _Pariston thinks to himself. "I'll keep that in mind. Well, until next time."

Rita hears the dial tone, and removes the phone from her ear. She stares at the phone for several moments and then releases an exasperated noise. Throws the phone into her backpack and rolls her eyes.

* * *

"_The Devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist."  
\- Hachiman Hikigaya (Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatteiru. Zoku)_

* * *

Kurapika had been the one to suggest that they stay the night in the forest. At first, Leorio had called him bat-shit crazy, or some other uncultured insult, and Rita had nearly joined in. However, upon listening to the logic of the blonde, she had a hard time disagreeing afterward.

The Kuruta was smart, and perceptive. He was intelligent, observant, and often reticent. He was everything Rita had wished she could have become, except a bit more secretive and a little more hostile.

They were strained, especially Gon, who refused to admit any sort of sign of weakness. Gon wanted to get to Killua as fast of possible of course, and so he too was upset, but no one could deny Kurapika's logic.

They needed to rest, Gon and Canaria, after their brief spats, and Kurapika and Leorio as well; the mental strain they had taken after seeing Gon hurt repeatedly was not one to be taken lightly.

Rita offered to stand watch throughout the night, declining repeated offers to switch from the rest of the four. "I didn't really do anything, whether it was opening the Testing Gate or taking on Canaria; I'm the most rested so I'll stand watch. Get some rest."

And that had been that.

Except it hadn't because Pariston had decided to be an annoying prick and call her. Leorio had been dead to the world, but there was a restless and groggy shift in the other three when her phone buzzed noisily from within her bag.

She tsked and moved to open it. She'd had to move locations for a brief moment because she was scared of how perceptive Gon could be, even in his sleep. The phone call was extremely short, partly because Rita had pushed to keep it that way and also because there hadn't been much to report, so she thought she would be fine.

Imagine her surprise when she returned to find Gon sitting in her watch spot, wide awake on high alert.

"Do you know my dad?" The child asks before she can spout excuses, lips set in far too stiff of a smile.

Rita sucks in a deep breath, realizes she's screwed up, and moves to sit next to him. _How much pain_, she thinks to herself as she closes her eyes, _fits into a person?_

"I won't ask who you were calling or whoever, but I heard you mention his name once." He looks into his lap intensely and Rita doesn't need to try to see his face to understand the poor kid is probably fighting back some wave of emotion, whether it be tears or something else.

She's relieved that he won't be questioning her about Pariston, whose name she definitely said out loud, but the topic of Ging is always awkward….

Perhaps to Gon it is not really pain so much as confusion. He is not bitter, and she knows this. In fact, there's not a bad bone in the child's body. But he is dizzy, disheveled. After all, what could be so amazing that a father would leave behind his own son for it?

She's mad at Ging; she has been for quite awhile. Gon is perhaps the sweetest boy she's ever met, him and Killua, though Killua in different aspects. If Ging had just had the balls to man up and speak to his own son, maybe Gon wouldn't have had to have been put through so much confusion. It was relieving to Gon sometimes, given the amount of blind faith Ging put in him but it was also _burdensome, _and that wasn't a word a twelve-year old boy who had yet to lose the light in his eyes should have had to be so familiar with.

It will be a long and emotional talk. She draws out a cigarette, puts one in her mouth and offers one to Gon. He makes no move to take it, only stares into the distance before him. Rita puts the pack away. "I do. I do know him."

"People say he's an amazing Hunter." Gon begins, voice slightly unsteady. "He must love what he does a lot. One day, I want to be like h-"

She can't bear to hear him finish the sentence. "Gon!"

"E-Eh?"

"Your father…" She takes a deep inhale. "Your father is probably the only one of his kind." A smile stretches her lips. "Ging is definitely something else. He's really cynical actually. He hates being around too many people at once. In fact, I'm pretty sure he hated being around even just me 99% of the time."

"Yeah," the child laughs and agrees, "if having to chase him down all over the world has anything to say for it."

"Ging is also very... _very kind._" The last two words die down to a hushes whisper, nearly overtaken by the whistling wind that prances around them whimsically, at first taking and then giving life to the end of her cigarette. "He gave the shittiest advice in the world; told me to fight with my head when he knew I only ever knew how to use my fists; made fun of my books and choice of hair and clothing."

This does not compute for Gon, because these actions don't seem in the least bit kind. He cocks his head to the side. "I don't really…"

"Have I ever told you about my amnesia, Gon?"

"No," the boy suddenly sits criss-crossing his legs, at once eager to listen, "you never have."

"Kurapika once told me retrograde amnesia isn't supposed to last for more than four months, and the memories are supposed to trickle back slowly." Rita puts her hand to her chin and deliberated her diction. "It wasn't amnesia so much as simple… denial I guess. I repressed all those memories. They're _painful. _I still don't _remember_ them but I know it can't really be amnesia at this point."

"But you shouldn't try to forget things just because they hurt!" Gon suddenly stands up, indignant. "Those memories are valuable too!"

Rita is taken aback for a second, and then she smiles. "Yes." She coaxes him to sit back down. "I know that now. But it isn't amnesia, and I understand that now because I... I'm scared to remember a little now. I was scared all the damn time, and in the midst of all that suffering, Ging was so kind. He gave me parts of a normal life I never could have asked for from anyone else." She looks up at the stars and strains to see them. "Don't blame your father. Be angry at him and be upset, but don't blame him. It's not that he didn't love you. He cared for you enough to send me after you. He just had a strange way of showing it."

"Do you really think he cares about me?" Gon asks.

She doesn't answer right away. "Not in the way you want."

At this he subtly flinches. Rita inwardly curses. "Gon, I-"

"No." He shakes his head. "I'm glad you're being honest with me Rita-san."

It's true. She has never made it a habit to sugarcoat the truth, even with children. "Like I said, it's not in the way you want, and I'm sorry about that. But I'll tell you right now, he trusts you more than anyone in the world."

"Trust?"

"He believes in you so much Gon." Rita looks up at the dark night sky again. "He believes in you more than he believes himself, I think. Maybe because you're younger with a strong, healthy conscience and blind faith. But he does."

"When did you meet him?" He asks.

"I think, six or seven months ago. Well, I first saw him four years ago, but it was only half a year ago I started spending time with him."

"Is he cool?"

"He's an absolute _loser."_ Rita crosses her arms and puffs. "Bed-head all the damn time with this incorrigible scowl on his dumb face, insufferable potty mouth. Arrogant." She pauses. "But in the end, he's a good person. When you meet him, you'll see."

Gon thinks about this for a bit. And then: "Thank you Rita-san."

She gets flustered for a moment. "Why are you thanking me?" She blinks.

"No one ever tells me about Ging. All his information is always classified and no one knows all that much about him. Sometimes it feels like I'm chasing something that doesn't exist."

_You bastard father, I can't believe you, _Rita grumbles inwardly, anger churning toward the good-for-nothing Zodiac.

"I feel like I'm a little bit closer, though it isn't really by that much. So thank you."

Rita looks away and scratches the back of her head. "Yeah, no problem. Anytime kid."

"Oh, and Rita-san?" Gon sits up a bit straighter and puts his hands in his lap; and then he puts his face closer to hers, examining her eyes. As if she wasn't flustered enough already.

"What is it?" She swallows. It's like having Ging look straight into her fucking soul and that was creepy enough as is.

Gon sits back normally. "Please don't be so sad. You might not remember your past friends, but you have new ones now, so don't feel so alone."

Rita doesn't know how to respond to this, just knows that it's bad news that Gon understands this much about her and that she wants, _needs_ to protect him from Pariston at all costs.

"You felt really sad during the Hunter Exam too. Please try to cheer up when you can. And if you need, I'll learn how to play that board game with you."

"How do you know about that?" She's suddenly extremely concerned.

"I have sharp hearing." He gets up and stretches. "I heard you and Kurapika talking about it on the bus!"

"Ah…" Rita breathes a sigh of relief. "Well Gon." She smiles. "I think I'd like that sometimes. I think that'd be nice."

* * *

"_The things we can't obtain are the most beautiful ones."  
\- Gilgamesh (Fate Stay Night - Unlimited Blade Works)_

* * *

"Maman!" Comes the shrill cry of a 12-year-old pubescent and still slightly awkward male. "Chrollo's being a jerk!" He speaks in fervent Italian.

A loud and somewhat exasperated groan comes from about six feet within the house, using the doorway for reference. "Mari, you were probably being a jerk before he was," comes the response, also in Italian, though rough and unhoned, as if the tongue is unused to it.

Kuroro Lucifer, aged 9 years, sits stone-faced on an old crate, scanning over the works of Plato's _Republic _with contempt. He fights the urge to turn the corners of hips lips upward.

"I was not!" The blue-haired brat jumps up and down in rage. Marzio scampers into the household and comes back out dragging a middle-aged woman by the wrist.

"Chrollo, what's going on?"

"Nothing Maman."

They all speak in Italian for the sake of Marzio, because he doesn't speak any other languages. Maman speaks English, French, Italian, and Castilian Spanish, and Kuroro isn't too sure how many he's proficient in, but the number is somewhere around thirteen.

"Liar!" Marzio shrieks. "He threw a book at me! He did, he did, he did!" And then he runs behind the woman lest Kuroro decide to do so again.

She frowns and crosses her arms. "Chrollo, why on earth-"

He shuts the thick chapter book and does something close to pouting. "Well Mari kicked it out of my hands first so, he started it."

She groans again and proceeds to place her hands on her hips. "I've had it with you two; stop _bickering_."

"He started i-"

"I don't care who started it, I'll finish it!" And she's gone in a whirlwind of irritation, the curtains in the doorway fluttering behind her as she breezes past them.

The two adolescents sit in furious silence before they both stick their tongues out each other.

"And get in here, dinner's ready!"

Marzio scrambles to his feet and quickly scampers in through the doorway, doing everything humanly possible to make sure he gets there before his brother does. Kuroro, on the other hand, calmly brushes off his book and stands up slowly. When he enters through the doorway, he puts his novel on the table and sits down next to Maman.

Marzio sticks his tongue out again, but is promptly stopped when the woman brings an open palm down on his head, firmly but gently. "Mari," she says in a certain tone of voice, "when we sit at the dinner table, we're family, do you hear me?"

Maman generally acts like she's 24, even though she's closer to 42 really. To Kuroro, the amount of youth in her has always surprised him. She's scary when she gets serious, however, and when she speaks like that, both he and Marzio know better than to question her.

Marzio doesn't respond, only frowns and refuses to meet either of their eyes. "Yes, Maman." He says grumpily.

"Good." She can't help but crack a smile. "Now eat."

It's hard to make do in Ryuuseigai, in Meteor City, with the scant amount of resources, so before he had met Maman, food had been more of a luxury. It was a still a luxury, without a doubt, but it was that much more; her food was amazing, one of the few things he was thankful for.

"Maman, Maman, teach us how to fight!"

Cue the groaning.

"Mari, Maman's tired today."

"But you promised!" He pouts again, crossing his arms and stomping his feet. For a 12 year old in Meteor City of all places, Kuroro has the vague notion that he is ridiculously spoiled.

"I did not!" The woman is suddenly indignant, crossing her arms and making a face similar to the one Marzio must have made a few minutes ago. "I would have remembered!"

To Maman, promises were always something important and priceless. She never made promises unless she intended to follow through on them, and even when things fell through, she always made every effort to make sure they were kept.

_God used words to make this world, so be careful with them._

Or so she would say.

Regardless, she never would have promised Marzio something so trivial. They were reserved for more pressing matters, situations that carried a bit of weight. Marzio and his penchant for gaslighting and fibbing his way through life might gain him the sympathy of others, but there was no space for it here.

"Maman," Kuroro stands up, "you did say you would, even if you didn't promise. And I kind of want to learn too."

At this, she lets out such a long groan the boys think her to be in pain. And then she puts her face into the palm of her hand and stands very still for a few moments.

"Fine!" She explodes, all arms and eye rolls. "Fine, let's go."

"Yay!" Marzio leaps up into the air. "Yay, yay, let's go, let's go!"

There is nowhere really to _go._ They place they liked to do their stuff was really in the backyard, simple and clean. It was nice in Kuroro's opinion however, nicer than really going anywhere else. No one bothered them here, no matter how much of a ruckus they made, and being with just the three of them without prying eyes always gave him some peace of mind.

They take turns sparring. Maman had never been a believer in things like methodically teaching things; instead, she believes in pounding lessons into the marrow of their bones, rote repetition, muscle memory. Pain is the best teacher, experience the best mentor.

"Mari, you waste too much energy making movements you don't need to!" She easily parries his knife hand attack and elbows him roughly, but not brutally.

"This is just the way I move!" He pouts indignantly.

Indeed, she is correct in that Marzio never stops moving, is constantly scouting and switching momentum, gears; but this is also his fighting style, the flow that connects all of his separate moves.

Kuroro on the other hands, is all about go and stop, wait and bide your time, attack at the second you see an opening. Mari says this method is too taxing on his muscles and feet, to constantly rush forward and restrain himself; it is taxing on the muscles, and he's right, but once learned in this art, substantial amounts of energy are saved.

Mari fights like a killer novice, Kuroro an inexperienced realist.

They spar until the sweat soaks them through to the bone and they're all three dizzy from dehydration, and even then, Marzio screams _more, more,_ in Italian.

"That's quite enough for today." Maman crosses her arms. She says this in a stern tone but Kuroro finds beautiful the way her eyes are that much brighter than they were a few hours ago at dinnertime. His surrogate mother, like most of the residents in Ryuuseigai, is most at ease when their heart rates are elevated.

Marzio pouts but knows when to give up. Kuroro stifles the smile that wants crawl onto his face. He-

* * *

"_We have no need for the past. All we need are the present and the future."  
\- Ciel Phantomhive (Kuroshitsuji)_

* * *

-jolts awake to the sensation that he's falling and that he might have a fucking heart attack, his heart rate is so elevated.

_Shit,_ Kuroro's hand immediately goes to his chest as he breathes in and out very carefully, feeling intense panic sweep him off his feet.

He has felt betrayal before and hell, he's even been the one who betrayed, but the worst is when it comes from your own body, like a Benedict Arnold with a bayonet in your bloodstream.

He lays there very still and closes his eyes. Panic wouldn't help his heart rate return to normal and so he forces himself to calm down, tells himself if he really was to die at this moment, it wouldn't matter all that much.

After five minutes of laying like that, stone cold with his eyes shut and mind wandering oblivion, he thinks he's okay to move around again.

Kuroro heaves himself to his feet, gets off the bed he had been sleeping on, and goes to the bathroom in the hotel room he is currently staying in for the moment. Carefully, he open the mirror cabinet and finds the bottle he's looking for.

It spits out two pills and he downs them with a cup of water.

He looks awful, if his reflection has anything to say for it. That terrible dream hadn't helped at all. His earlier days with Marzio and Anat were days he didn't want to relive.

Well actually, he did, of course -those were better, simpler times- but it wasn't as if that could ever happen, so obliterating memories of them was the best alternative…

_Goddammit…_ Kuroro sinks to the cold tile on the bathroom floor and just sits there for a few moments in his messy button up shirt and black pants, bringing his hand to his imprinted forehead. _What's wrong with me?_

**_TO BE CONTINUED_**

* * *

**A/N: IM SORRY I M SO OS SO SOR RY IM SO SORRY MY CHILDREN IM SOFUCKIN SORRY IVE BEEN SO BUSY I CANT EVEN IM SO SORY PLEAS ENJOY THIS LONG CHAPTER I SORY ;^;**


	23. Who are You?

**Book 2: Malum**

**Chapter 23: Who Are You?**

* * *

Crisp September air lashes hair against her chilled face and rubicund nose. The sky is clear and the sun is shining but the air is _clean_ and _cold, _just how she likes it.

"You seem to be in a good mood, Rita-san."

She frowns suddenly. "I keep telling you to just call me Rita, for the love of God."

The blonde laughs and his eyes squeeze shut.

Rita is frightened. The Yorkshin auction is now in a matter of hours, and she is frightened. Not for herself, but for Kurapika.

Naturally, the blonde's aura is one that is clean, just like the air today. It's the kind nothing can really defile; he is kind, caring, and righteous with a strong sense of moral justice. The last two or three months traveling together and teaching him has taught her this much.

But one mention of the Genei Ryodan and the kid loses his shit.

Not that she blames him. They had only raped and pillaged everything he ever loved, and that was understandable, especially since she herself also felt a certain degree of acerbic emotion and unsettledness at their mention-but the degree of his shift in mood was unfathomable.

Really, he was scary when mad.

They are in a coffee shop and Kurapika has received a well-deserved break from his duty as bodyguard for some rich man's daughter. Rita allows herself to unwind a bit, but not very much. The gathering in York Shin will bring not only prestigious, but also _powerful_ people and she has made it a point to never make laxity in discipline a habit.

"It's been awhile," he smiles at her.

"It has." She agrees, sipping her drink. "Nice to see you. I'm certain Gon and Killua will be ecstatic to see you too. I don't think you've done all that great of a job keeping in touch."

"I was preoccupied." He shrugs but the shadow flickering over his eyes as he says it gives her chills.

They both sit there sipping their Americanos, letting the silence settle comfortably between them.

"Apprehensive?" He asks, putting his cup down.

Rita does the same, blinking. She takes a long, hard stare at him, scrutinizing how much he has changed. His facial expressions, though still there, have hardened, and so have his eyes to something steely.

She sighs. "I am. Why are you asking?"

"I feel like something large is going to happen at this auction."

"The gut feeling is never wrong, Kurapika." She puts her chin on top her hand and stares out the window. Rita knows he's right though. Something big is brewing. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

"I've met some crazy people. I must say though, I'm glad you dragged me aside for a few weeks and pounded your Nen knowledge into me. I thought I was very prepared by the time I left your side but there are strong people out there." `

"Given that your power is for use solely against the Phantom Brigade, I'm not worried about your battles against them, so long as you keep your cool."

"You know," he brushes his hair out of his face and takes another sip. "You're the only person I've met who isn't incredibly against my vendetta."

"Oh don't get me wrong, I am." Rita rolls her eyes. "I definitely am. I think a better way to phrase it is that I think I _understand._"

"What do you understand?"

"That it's honestly pointless to convince you out of it. Also, the feeling itself, I think, is something I can relate to."

"Interesting," he nods, and returns his attention to his coffee.

Several months have passed since any of the original five have kept in touch, excepting Gon and Killua, since Rita is certain they have stuck together. She wonders what it's like to have a friendship as pure and as genuine as theirs is, and she can't help but feel that she probably had one like it, back when her memory was still fully up and running- but it's not something she can recall now, and if its not there for her to draw back on, then really, it's basically as if it never existed.

Shortly after they had saved Killua from his borderline abusive family -really, it wasn't borderline at all, it was outright, but Killua detested the phrase as if it said something bad about himself as a person- and Rita had seen neither Leorio nor the two of them since that time.

Killua had seemed mentally stable enough to be allowed to run amok with his companion and though Rita had had her doubts, she had to remind herself that the silver-haired assassin was not a person's typical twelve-year-old boy. Gon had been overjoyed at their reunion and Rita had chuckled to herself, guessing that from now on and for many years later, the two would be inseparable.

Leorio had made it plenty clear that he wished to pursue the course of being a doctor and she had also laughed at that remark the first time he had made it because really, the amount of learning one was required to do in that profession was nothing short of absolutely ridiculous and she would never be able to imagine Leorio of all people sit down for hours on end, face stern with steely determination. The man definitely had the drive however, and most of all, he had the real compassion that would get him through the trying times. She hopes he will surprise her.

As for Kurapika… Oh for Kurapika… The blonde had really caused her plenty of headaches, and coupled with the added stress of carrying out Pariston's little mission, Rita definitely had had her plate full.

Perhaps out of the desire to spite Pariston, Rita had decided to become the Kurta's Nen teacher. It would make Pariston's job several times harder, which was half of the point, but it would also help her gain the trust of the blonde, which covered the other half, or the actual task,

His resolve had astounded her the first time they had met up. Originally everyone had decided to go their separate ways, but Rita had been surreptitiously keeping tabs of Kurapika since she couldn't very well lose his trail- answering to Pariston's wrath was the one thing she wasn't up for. After going to a job matchmaker in some shady part of town and failing the Nen test, he had exited the building in a flurry of rage, upset and angry, believing himself to be a fully qualified Hunter.

She had crept into that dilapidated building several minutes after he had left and talked to the woman sitting at the secretary's desk.

"What kind of job was he looking for?"

"He?" The purple-skinned woman had fixed her with a look.

"The boy that just left. Didn't know his Nen."

"Mmm," she put her chin on her left hand. "Why should I tell you?"

"For the hell of it." Rita crossed her arms. "Also because I'm his friend and I want to help him out. We passed the Hunter Exam together." She put her Hunter License on the desk.

"Same date of graduation indeed. Fine then. He's looking for something that might grant him access to anything with the Scarlet Eyes. But I couldn't give him the job. He's not ready yet and if I sent him in like that, he'd get killed very quickly."

"Oh you don't have to justify yourself to me. I understand wholeheartedly. Thank you for the information. So long."

And that had been that.

Except it hadn't because shortly after that she had caught up to Kurapika and grabbed him by the wrist.

"Rita-san?!" He seemed thunderstruck.

"Hey pretty-boy," she had smirked. "How you doing?"

A lot had gone on in the several days after she had pulled him aside in order to teach him Nen. The first of these many events was that Rita had learned the extents to which the blonde was prepared to go to in order to extract his revenge.

Though no one had taught her how to activate Nen properties in other people, Rita felt as if it was something she had always inherently known, now that she was a Nen user with an acute awareness of her body. There were certain areas that her aura had a tendency to concentrate around, the body's micropyles that needed to be opened.

After having forcibly opened them in Kurapika, he took a rather long time adjusting to the new changes in his body, nearly passing out due to being initially unable to stopper the rush of aura exiting his body.

Upon completing that task however, the orangette came to realize that Kurapika was a natural.

* * *

**TWO MONTHS PRIOR**

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I was hit by a truck and left on the asphalt to die."

Rita blinks and stiffles a chuckle. He sounds like her. "That's awfully specific."

"That's specifically what I feel like." She doesn't miss the subtle growling in the back of his throat to signify that she should probably shut up for awhile.

He's tired and it's understandable; learning to cope with having to constantly keep your life force from leaving one's body was almost always an exhausting and full-time task when initially begun.

Kurapika sits in his ascetic white clothing, having discarded his colorful robe in order to better focus on meditating. She feels his aura fluctuating wildly as he struggles to put a reign around it. A sudden rush, and then a frantic restraining before he seems to lose control of it to release another torrent of Nen.

He releases an incredibly frustrated hiss when he can't seem to get the hang of it, angry more with himself and his clumsiness than anything else.

Rita stands up from her own meditating position beside Kurapika and gently places her hands on his shoulders.

"Shhh." She closes her eyes. "This typically happens when your emotions are in turmoil and your thoughts are too turbulent for you to focus one-hundred percent."

"Sounds about right," he makes a tsk sound with his tongue, teeth gritted.

Rita can figure out what to do. The process of Nen for her has been one that had always been inherent; unlike others, she had had control of her Nen for as long as she could remember- funny because she couldn't remember much.

"I know it's stifling for you but put your robe back on." Rita tells him. "It might be hot but it will give your Nen something to cling to and you won't lose your energy quite as rapidly. I don't want you passing out on me."

"I'm not going to pass out." He grumbles.

"It wasn't a request, Kurapika."

And so he grudgingly obliges.

Rita sits down criss-cross in front of him and steadies her own aura so it won't be impacted by Kurapika's chaotic one. She takes a deep breath. "Give me your hands."

At this he hesitates.

All of Kurapika's actions, Rita understands painfully well, but that isn't to say it doesn't irk her to some extent. For beginners, the hands are the main outlet for escaping Nen, the hands and the bare back, so they become incredibly sensitive- the body's defense mechanism to deter the user from offering them to anyone who might take advantage of the fact.

Rita knows the sensation of being wary with the hands very well herself. She does not make physical contact at all if possible with other living beings. Though her natural ability, at this point, is well-controlled, but it can never hurt to be too careful; she didn't want to accidently suck the life out of anything without due reason.

"_Kurapika,_" she closes her eyes. "_Trust me."_

Ten seconds later he does, closing his eyes as well and placing his hands very tenderly on top of hers. Their fingertips barely touch but it is enough to make him start back like he's been electrocuted.

"Shit!" He curses and subconsciously scrambles to put distance between them.

"Shh." She coaxes him again, as if he's some injured dog. Rita hasn't moved an inch, hasn't opened her eyes, hasn't altered her breathing pattern. "Come back here and try again."

"Not until you explain to me what that was!"

"You'll get an explanation once you learn how to depend a little on your friends pretty boy. Come back and try again. It'll take several attempts, so be patient with yourself and overcome your fear. I promise anything I do won't kill you. Also, it's in your best interest to hurry up because at this point if you don't you're in danger of fainting. You've exhausted a lot of Nen."

She's obviously pissed him off with her attitude, but Rita reasons to herself that she's almost twice his age and with more than twice the experience in Nen, so she needs to take charge here.

Indeed, it takes seven tries for them to get it right. The blonde flinches away each time, accusing her of literally ripping his aura away from her, each time Rita explaining that that is not what's going on and that he needs to have some faith in her.

On the seventh try, Kurapika shudders intensely but keeps his sitting position. He is concentrating intensely, eyes screwed shut, teeth worrying his lip. Their hands are barely making slight contact.

"Wait." She prompts. "Wait. Be patient."

He squirms.

"Wait."

And then he slowly opens his eyes, tension leaving his body through his shoulders.

"What's happening?" He's baffled.

At this point Rita opens her eyes and looks at him. The two sit, in the middle of a dying forest in drizzling rain, facing each other and holding each other's hands. Comical really. But peaceful.

Rita begins to explain.

"From what I can remember, I was born with two abilities. You need to understand that by born, I mean the earliest memory I can recall. The ability to control my Nen at will, and an inherent ability, distinctly inhuman. Through my hands, I can take the life energy of any living thing and utilize it to my own benefit. If I were to be too exhausted, I could put my hand on a tree and sap it to replenish my energy.

"There's a drawback to this though, and it's that if I am to take, I take everything. If I am to take the energy of a poisoned person, the poison at that point enters my body as well. I need to be careful about what I put my hands on too, so I understand your wariness, but trust me Kurapika. I'm here to help.

"I found out awhile ago that the process is reversible as well. I can put my own energy into things through my hands. So really, if I want to bring a wilting flower back to full health, I can do that pretty quickly. It's worth noting though that this ability is useless if a person is dead. I can't bring those that have died back to life.

"The reason why I'm having you do this is so that I can take your escaping Nen and channel it back into you through your hands. I can't rechannel all of it, but I can help with the majority of it. Can you feel it?"

Kurapika seems a little overwhelmed at all of this information and simply opts to say nothing for a few moments.

"It…" He tries to start forming a coherent sentence. "It feels weird. Like there's something sliding up and down my arms."

Rita nods, since his description matches what it's supposed to feel like, what it feels like for her.

"Do you think you've calmed down a little?" She asks him, now that the amount of Nen escaping from him has been brought under some semblance of control, though it is dependent on her.

He nods. His eyes have cleared up a bit, beginning to revert back to the crystalline blue they usually are.

"Good, let's go on…"

* * *

He's a conjurer, she realizes. All he can think about are chains, day in or day out, chaining this force of evil to the ninth layer of Hell where Phantom Troupe members all apparently belong. Rita has never hated someone this much -except perhaps Pariston, but even that was a stretch- so she finds it hard to understand, but she does know the feeling of being willing to put everything to your name on the line for something; she tells herself this is why she helps him closer to his own destruction but also to his own salvation. His revenge; but also his ability to fend for himself.

He is specialist, however, when his eyes turn that pretty scarlet hue, and he can use every nen property at 100%.

_It's such a waste._

Such latent talent, Rita had never before seen in her entire life, and if Kurapika would just have the patience to sit down and hone it carefully, precisely, delicately… He could probably do just about anything he ever wanted, especially if he could get his eyes to bend to his will, instead of the other way around.

It doesn't matter though. She teaches him the Nen he wants to learn the way he wants to learn it. With his mindset, Rita knows he will not live long, even if his vendetta succeeds. Such was life.

And after the training is done, after she has successfully pounded the principles of Nen into his small body, Kurapika can quickly and skillfully pull his Nen chain from thin air in less than a fraction of a second; he can summon his rage in that window of time as well.

So she lets him go, to meet him again in September at the world's largest -and perhaps most dangerous- auction. He doesn't look back after the first word of "goodbye."

She knows that one day, he'll probably kill all of the Spiders.

Even if he stops wanting to.

* * *

He sips his Americano, brushing his long hair behind his ear with his left hand. Rita watches him pensively. Her coffee has long since gone cold. It sucks, quality-wise, and she's never been one for cheap coffee anyways.

"Do you think you're ready?"

"No one knows whether they'll show up here at all." Kurapika seems to be trying to hard to convince himself, much less her. It's as if he doesn't want to give himself false hope.

She looks toward the ceiling of the cafe where two ceiling fans are spinning in perfect unison with one another. And then she looks to the clock above the entrance, which reads 2:30 PM. The other clock above the order station reads the same. They tick in conjunction with one another, immaculately, neither falling out of sync.

But its only a matter of time before time takes its toll on the man-made failures to harness it. One will eventually run out of battery, or be affected by the force of nature, or…

She blinks.

"_I_ know." And then she gets up and pays for both of them, throwing her hood up before exiting the cafe.

On the way out she passes a trio, two adolescents and one older man. Strangely familiar auras.

Rita leaves them to Kurapika.

Rita opts to find herself a library to hole up in until the auction starts. She is exhausted really. The previous months not having the Hunters around to use as an excuse against receiving Pariston's calls had drained the living fuck out of her.

Eight times in a matter of several short months he had asked for her favors. Five of them had been assassination missions. Three of them intel gathering. It was like each mission took ten years off of her lifespan.

It was impossible of course, but it sure as hell felt like it.

She couldn't even meet up with Ging except for on occasion afterward, because firstly, the man was so hard to find, and secondly, because his senses were as sharp as ever. Pariston always left malicious Nen clinging to her, though she was sure it was involuntary.

Honestly, she is so tired, so so weary. She contemplates booking a hotel room but she knows that she won't get much sleep over the course of these next three days anyways. Pariston will be sure to call her for something and she knows she will have to engage in combat with someone sooner or later.

And the matter of the Spiders and her past.

She is not sure she wants to know how they have anything to do with her identity if it means recovering her memory. Though Ging definitely had not believed her when she said she did not mind not having a memory, Rita had been deadpan honest.

It was frightening. Finding out who a person was. Who she was. Who she could be.

_Aggghh,_ she wants to tear all of these intrusive thoughts out of her mind.

Three blocks away she spots a library. Rita picks up the pace so she can scamper inside and until the main show starts.

The library is enormous, but dim. She curls up in a musty corner to sleep for about 45 minutes. Any longer than that would be dangerous; her body would wake her up on its own after that as well, sensing an unusually long bout of naptime.

When she gets up she decides to wander through the aisles and look at the grandeur of man's knowledge bound and ready for her to take in.

She spends two or three hours scouring the books for everything she pleases, releasing her inhibitions and just allowing herself some enjoyment. She reasons she should for now, seeing as the auction will probably suck ass.

"You're not attending the auction Miss?"

Rita turns around to find a frail old woman, well-aged, perhaps about 75 years old, smiling at her tenderly. The orangette is inexplicably touched.

"Oh, I am," she quickly reassures her. "I am, it's just that it gets really chaotic in the hours leading up. I've always enjoyed the library anyways. I can get there in less than ten minutes so I'll just wait until it begins."

"Oh how nice." She's short, with the whitest hair and most genuine smile. "It's hard to find people your age who spend a lot of time around here anymore. It's nice to see."

"Am I the only one here?" Rita asks as she pulls a book about ancient board games from the musty shelves. Brushing her hand over the multitude of both new and worn spines in the dim glow of the warm lights, it's hard not to feel the presence of kindred spirits lift her up.

The librarian needs to think about it before she answers. "No actually. There's another man here, but he's kind of funny-looking so I couldn't quite bring myself to talk to him." She catches sight of the book in Rita's hands. "Are you looking into buying a board game for the auction?"

"No, I'm not. I just realized I didn't catch your name," Rita says, realizing her pretentiousness. "I'm Rita. What's yours?"

The old woman seems to be very happy she asked. "Call me Kelly, sweetheart. Now that I think about it, that other man was looking about a chess book or some sort, if you're into that."

Rita's heart leaps up into her throat. There aren't been many things she could be sure about herself up to this point, but whenever a headache is triggered, Rita knows she is on the right track. Anything about chess always brought the worst wave of sadness and nostalgia crashing over her.

"Where exactly was the section? I'm looking into chess actually."

"Oh ho, I'm glad I told you then." She smiles, holding a finger up and turning around. "Follow me."

They walk for what must be a full two minutes. The library is spacious and large, something that she does not realize until she is really scrutinizing it; there is a lot of room between the shelves to move around. Her only complaint is the amount of dust.

"Oh dear, he's still there."

Rita almost slams into the old woman's back; she had stopped abruptly right before they rounded the corner of the shelf to turn into the aisle.

"I'm going to leave you to it deary, I get the chills around his type."

"I understand. Thank you Kelly," Rita smiles at her and watches her leave, though a bit confused.

_His type? _

A Nen user maybe. Malicious Nen could feel positively terrifying around those who didn't have it to use at their disposal. Rita ponders this as she rounds the shelf and begins walking down the long aisle toward the middle where there is a figure standing with an open book.

_Chess, chess, chess… _

It's hard to see because the lighting is awfully dim and flickers every once in awhile. The library, though soothing, is somewhat creepy.

Gradually she creeps closer to the man.

Rita's breath is driven from her body all at once and she has to stop walking for several long seconds. She is being attacked.

Not five feet away he stands, calmly looking through his book about chess. He flips the page. One would never guess that his Nen would encompass such a large radius around his body unless using Gyo.

If Nen is normally a pale white color, his has to be an opaque black. It feels slippery, sharp, and strangely fragmented in certain places.

_Pull yourself together. _

Rita takes a deep breath blasts Ren, increasing her Ten output and forcibly bringing her heart rate back down. She resumes walking.

Step, step, step, step…

"That was a rude greeting." Rita decides to speak to him outrightly, in English. The auction is an international one and she supposes that's the most widely used language up to date. She purses her lips as she pulls a book by the spine from the shelves right next to him. Purposely, to spite him, she stands very close to him.

"Forgive me," he shuts his book and shelves it for another one. His own English is as flawless as hers. "I couldn't help myself."

"Not true," she states as she flips through the pages of her own. "Twelve year old boys can't help themselves and you look to be least mid-twenty."

"You're not taking part in the auction?"

"Oh I am. I'm sure you heard our conversation a few minutes ago. And what about you?"

"I'll be there later. I suppose I'll be seeing you there."

Her heart pounds against her ribcage like it wants to tear itself away from its confines, and it irks her because really, she has nothing to be afraid of. She is not cocky, but rather self-assured in her Nen abilities, and though this man had taken her off-guard, it wouldn't happen again.

"Do I…?" He runs his fingers over the text in his book. The air is stagnant, still, incredibly tense; almost electric. "..."

"Perhaps." Rita answers, knowing how the question will go. "I get that a lot. But the fact remains that I don't know you, unfortunately."

There is excruciating silence.

"For the love of god, didn't anyone ever teach you any manners?" Rita frowns, crossing her arms to face him.

His Nen is entwining itself with hers. Unlike Kurapika's and Gon's, this man's aura is more like Pariston's -though not quite as revolting- in that it moves in tendrils, independent almost with a mind of its own. She can't help but get the vague notion that he is touching her all over.

For the first time she gets a good look at his face. Deep, endless onyx eyes stare and bore into her. On his forehead is the mark of Christ and his dark hair is slicked back. Like her, he is self-assured, but not arrogant.

"Wh-Who," she curses her stuttering voice. "Who are you?"

He sighs a long-suffering sigh, one that nearly makes her feel some semblance of sympathy for him. "I would like to know that too."

He grabs her left hands and presses a very precisely folded piece of paper into it. Rita is surprised and confused. Slowly she opens it.

_Funeral song; dirge, _is written in Kanji at the top, in beautiful calligraphy. Right below, in normal pen ink reads _pawn to C2. _

When she looks up to ask him about it, he has disappeared.

TO BE CONTINUED.

* * *

**A/N: Aghhafkdfssnd ! It's been more than three months, I know ;^; I'm so so sorry. I've been so crazy busy and I've been freaking out because people are getting so impatient for Kuroro and Rita to meet up. I had so much more planned but I knew I couldn't keep you all on the edge forever, so I tried to make a chapter that covered this enormous time skip after saving Killua all the way to the auction. It's very rushed, I know, and I didn't even have the patience to slap quotes in there, please forgive me. It's not the longest chapter I could have given you but I hope you enjoy it. What did you guys think? Did you make the connections? **

**Please read and review c: Sorry for the wait again. Until next time. **


	24. War Paint

**Book 2: Malum**

**Chapter 24: War Paint**

* * *

_**A/N: Let me begin this by saying that I am so incredibly touched by the amount of reviews that the announcement I might be discontinuing this story got. I hadn't realized that there was a large number of people who truly enjoyed this fic. I had assumed that it was amateurish and difficult to read, because rereading my own writing, that was the impression I had gotten.**_

_**I can't express the gratitude I feel that you've stuck by me this far. I'm so sorry for having gone so long without updating. I threw chapter together in 2-3 days so forgive me again, and pelase forgive me in the future if the updates are few and far between. **_

_**Without further ado, please enjoy the story. You've all made me very happy. **_

_**\- coincidenced**_

* * *

She hears murmurs no matter where she goes.

The soft clicking of her heels against the concrete eases her nerves just a little, and Rita's always liked playing dress up -it makes her feel powerful- and so she takes a deep breath and charges onward.

"Hey miss!" Someone suddenly calls to her in accented English, and she shoots a glance over her left shoulder. A man with strange, sea greenish hair comes trotting up to her. "You dropped this!"

She is shocked to see her cellphone in the man's hand. Rita looks down to her clutch to see it tightly clasped. There was no way her phone could have just slipped out.

_Pickpocketed? _She thinks. _Me? What skill.._

"Oh," she breathes in faux relief. "God, thank you so much, that's so important; I was expecting a call."

He slips it into her open palm with both hands and Rita quickly flips through it. Relief floods her system, although discreetly. Pariston had yet to contact her, unless the man had somehow gotten through her password and deleted the message. She would have to follow up on this later.

"You should be more careful, miss." He smiles, bending over to bring her hand to his mouth. "It's dangerous here tonight."

He looks like the dangerous type – narrow, glinting eyes, longish hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Clad in what looks to be a very expensive black suit, he shoots her a smile.

"I'm sorry," she brings her closed hand to her chest and does her best to look abashed. "My date's cancelled on me tonight but I have to be here for something. Would you mind accompanying me, just for an hour or so?"

He opens his mouth to reply but Rita isn't done acting yet.

"I know I'm being incredibly selfish!" She jumps in, forcing a flush onto her face. "I'd just feel safer with someone by my side, and you-"

He brings a finger to her lips. "Say no more." He smiles, obliging. "It'd be my pleasure. I don't believe I caught your name."

"It's Rita." She smiles reciprocally, in the same manner. "Thank you."

"Marzio, at your service." His eyes twinkle with mischief and magic. A shame; Rita's sure she could have truly befriended him in any other situation. "You look wonderful tonight."

Rita knows what she looks good in. The midnight blue clashes wonderfully with her orange hair done up in a bun. It is plain, tight around the waist but slightly looser around the legs with a daring slit; around her neck is a shimmering choker. "Thank you." She says again and bows slightly to humor him.

"Shall we?" He extends a crooked arm.

She nods and takes it.

They fall into a comfortable gait, taking leisurely steps as they wander around the grounds until the auction begins, whispering to one another when they see something interesting as if they had been acquainted with one another for much longer than they really had been.

Much to her relief, people eye her but do not approach her, most likely because she has a man by her side. That had been perhaps the other half of the reason why she had asked him to accompany her.

"Are you from around here?" She asks, bringing up material for small talk; might as well get to know each other.

They analyze one another in the subtlest of ways, raking gazes down each others' bodies. He flares his Nen for tests, and she must reign hers in.

"I'm not, actually." He says playfully, answering the question but playfully drawing back and refusing an explanation.

She eyes him coyly and thinks a little. His English is accented, but not in the way that she's used to. It isn't an East Asian accent, because she's had more than enough of Pariston's shitty English, and she knows the way that the Japanese tend to pronounce their words.

"You're European," she throws the guess out there.

He makes a face, as if this was not what he had expected. "European," he rolls the word around in his mouth with a laugh. "Yes, I suppose, but not primarily. Only by extension."

Rita sighs a little and runs her fingers through her hair as she continues strolling with him. "Say something."

"Like what?"

"Something your native tongue."

"Ah, but that would be cheating. You seem like an educated lady with enough language training under her belt to know mine."

Well, that was certainly a long enough spiel for Rita to put her finger on it. "Spain," she says a little more confidently this time, narrowing her eyes a little. "Or perhaps… Italy?"

"Italia!" He beams, giving a congratulatory nod.

His genuine smile is so charming it takes Rita's breath away for an entire second; she needs to clear her throat in a guise to recover and returns a feeble smile of her own. "How was I? Faster than the average?"

"Just impressive. People usually don't get it. But it's disappointing for me. It shows my English still needs work."

"Getting rid of accents is hard," she consoles slightly by bringing her other hand to his arm and touching it lightly. "And your appearance in and of itself might be a giveaway."

"Speaking of which," Marzio stops and exchanges a street vendor a flower for a few zenny. He places it delicately in her hair. "It is hard for me to tell your nationality, Miss Rita." The flower is a bright ochre shade, one that goes well with the rest of her getup.

"Oh me," she shrugs the thought away with a wave of her hand. "Unimportant. I am me and that is all. I have never allowed my origins to play any part in who I actually _am_."

Marzio seems intrigued by the words that have most recently left her lips. He cocks his head to the side and stares at her with his unreadable expression on his face when –

Both of them suddenly whirl themselves around to face something from just behind the corner they recently turned, bristling, hypervigilant, prepared for…

For what?

Nothing is there.

Rita catches Marzio's eye in a moment of frenzy, and then they both begin to laugh. It is a real laughter, the kind of laughter Rita sorely misses from her time with Gon and Kurapika and that fool Leorio and most especially Ging.

"I wonder what that was," the female brushes herself off and straightens herself up.

"Whatever it might have been, the poorly controlled malice and bloodlust was palpable even from three meter away." Marzio and cracks his knuckles. "Where were we?"

"On our way to the auction?" She suggests, extending her arm this time. He takes it jubilantly.

"Right you are."

After the incredibly unsettling encounter at the dilapidated library she had experienced a few hours ago, Rita had gone out and spent an extravagant sum of money on playing dress up. The one thing Pariston allowed her was an infinite supply of money to indulge in whatever the hell she wanted, which was, what he said to be asmall perk of her job under him.

_She'd be damned if twisting necks and taking lives didn't warrant a handsome sum of money, for god's sake. _

From there, Rita had gotten dressed, applied her make-up, and and then assumed a persona. So far, stumbling across the mystery of the man named Marzio seemed to be working out for her pretty well.

Kurapika was in the city, waiting in ambush for the Phantom Troupe to arrive at the scene. She had definitely gained his trust, and she could only hope that she had done a satisfactory enough job with him and finding out his intentions to placate Pariston.

Speaking of the devilish Zodiac, where the fuck was he with information on her mission tonight?

"You seem distracted." Marzio commented, snaking an arm around her waist.

Perhaps a few years ago, the touch would have made her incredibly uncomfortable, but Rita has become far too accustomed to the rough touch of a man in these past few months, and so it doesn't bother her nearly as much as it should.

"I have many thoughts flying through my mind tonight." She narrows her eyes a little as the auction hall comes into view. Its lights are bright and there are dozens of mafioso crawling round near its entrance.

Vertigo from a bout of deja vu hits her full force again, and Marzio steadies her carefully like the faux gentleman he's trying to portray himself to be. "Are you alright?"

"Never been better." She laughs a little as gets a _fucking hold on herself. _

As of late, she's been getting a fuck ton of headaches. Not normal headaches, but short ones that throb and pound with excruciating pain. It's obvious that her body or her brain has put up some sort of defense mechanism to keep her from recalling her memories. It's painful. Not just psychologically, to remember, but physically sometimes as well. The scar on her stomach has a tendency to really hurt on rainy days as well.

Seeing the auction hall, she had assumed, would be nothing extraordinary, but the very sight of it leaves her reeling. It is so familiar. She knows where the bathrooms are and what the clearing behind the hall looks like; more terrifying, she knew exactly what that clearing looks like littered with bodies and –

"-ita… Rita!"

"Hm?" She immediately snaps out of her reverie. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me."

"Don't apologize." His brows furrow together in what seems to be genuine concern. "You seem out of it."

"And Marzio would know how I look when I'm "out of it" how?" She says playfully. "Apologizes. But, I think this is where our journey will end. Thank you for bringing me here."

"So soon?" The green-haired male asks. Rita does not miss the subtle flicker of apprehension in his Nen that alerts her to his internal turmoil. Although he skillfully covers it, it was too much of a waver in confidence to have been a fluke. "I thought we would accompanying each other throughout the auction."

Rita doesn't have an excuse for this, but she can't stay close to the man, she knows. His dip in self-assuredness confirmed that he was tailing her, and quite frankly she was fucking terrified.

"I'm okay Marzio. I don't need someone doting after me. But, if you'd like, we can go out for coffee after. Shoot me a text." Rita winks at him.

"But I don't have your-"

"You do." The female flashes an fiendish smile at him.

And then she's gone.

* * *

"I _lost her,_" comes the irritable growl in thick Italian. "Shut the fuck up, you wouldn't been able to find her in the first place. Know your place."

"This is unlike you, Marzio."

"Give me a light."

"Yes sir. What should we do, sir?"

"She's a lot more skilled than I thought she would be."

"It _has_ been four years. And her intellectual capacity was modified to be much larger than the average person's of course. It's only natural that she's surpassed our expectations."

"This is _dangerous._"

"It'll be _better, _if we can actually get her."

Silence. And then…

"I'll look for her alone. We need to know how much she knows and who exactly she's working under. I don't even know how the higher ups let this entire shitload of a debacle even happen. They should have nipped it in the bud twenty years ago."

"Is it really even her? The Phantom Troupe specifically said they killed her with a special sword or something-"

"I know what the Phantom Troupe said. You know what, just get the fuck away from me okay? I'll settle this."

* * *

"You are so _infuriating._" Rita literally fumes as she speaks in rapid Japanese to Pariston into the receiver. "I was in the dark for at least three or four hours without even a clue as to why I was even in this godforsaken city and you decide to call me literally halfway into the fuckin auction-"

"Rita dearest I need you to calm down and listen to me."

"Listen to you my _ass,_" the grumbling continues of course, but eventually dies down as she really does need to receive instructions from the Rat. Tonight will be a big night and she doesn't intend to blow it. There's a lot of tension in the air, like a thundercloud that's heavy and about to break, and Rita plays her cards right, she'll finally be able to figure out why these missing chunks in her memory are so strangely fragmented and just… empty.

"You're there to make sure that a certain item is won by a certain man. Should someone else bid higher than he does-"

"Dispose of them, I'm seeing the picture now."

"You've always been quick to pick up on things. I entrust the rest of it into your-"

"Pariston." Rita suddenly breaks into his sentence, tone grave.

The pregnant pause reflects the shock on the Rat's part. Rita sounds apprehensive; scared even. It is unlike her, this haughty, self-assured girl, confident in her own ability to get things done, even if it meant having to get her hands dirty.

"What's going on?"

"Someone is tailing me and I don't know what to do."

Sometimes Pariston needs to remind himself that Rita is barely older than a teenager and has been forced to grow up very quickly. Sometimes he needs to remind himself that although she was probably born of a petri dish and gametes in test tubes and things like that, she is still a human being, albeit a little more enhanced in certain areas.

"Who is it."

"His name is Marzio. Or that's what he told me. Allegedly Italian. Greenish hair tied up into a ponytail. Reeks of smoke. Mischievous. Strange Nen quality I can't put my finger on. Skilled."

"We'll talk afterward. It's okay if he tails you if all goes according to plan, because you can just dispose of him after. It would be bad if my client isn't able to get the item however, and-"

"Pariston, he's _stronger than me,_ I can _feel it._"

"Rita let me finish, I-" Dead silence. "Pardon?"

"I think I'd lose in a Nen fight against him. I'd die."

A long sigh. "You're shitting me."

If nothing else, the spectacle of Pariston cursing is one that Rita finds hilarious. The situation currently, however, gives her no solace.

"Pariston I'm scared."

The blonde-haired Zodiac has been in many different types of predicaments before throughout the course of this life. This is, however, one of the few incidents where he has been completely taken off guard.

He is a meticulous planner, the type that doesn't like things going wrong. At the very least, every possibility is usually accounted for so he is not unpleasantly surprised. Fear, on Rita's part had not been part of the plan; hell, it had never even part of the possibilities before.

"..."

"I know your job isn't to protect me. I don't know why I'm behaving like this tonight. This isn't the first time I've faced someone stronger than me. Please disreg-"

"Rita I need you to listen to me." His voice drops in volume several notches, which adds to Rita's apprehension. "The description you just gave me matches the current description of Marzio Salvador Marchesi, one of the caporegimes of the Italian Mafia branches that works literally worldwide. He is well-known in the Hunter and underground communities and to normal people. I've met him before on two occasions and I understand what you mean by his strange Nen."

"Pariston, I-"

"Let me _finish, Rita,_" he says as the end of his phrase cuts off into a near-snarl. "There are two reasons he could be tailing you, whether it be one reason or a combination of both. Your connection to the mafia as the weapon they engineered might be one. The other is because I may have made an enemy of him through you. Several months ago I asked you to dispose of someone in Japan's branch to the Italian Mafia. He might be on a vendetta for that."

"Would he go to the trouble of tailing me for all that?"

"Like I said, it's probably a combination of the two factors. I'm not sure if we've ever established this fact, but to the Mafia, you're dead. You should have died four years ago when you were stabbed through against that tree so to them, you're bad news. They'll be confused."

The overwhelming bombardment of information causes the female's nausea to rise to a nearly unbearable level. "What…" She swallows, clears her throat, and tries again. "What should I do?"

"Forget the mission I just gave you. I will dispatch someone else to do that job, although should things go awry he won't be able to do it with half the finesse you would be able to," he tsks irritably. "I want you to focus on keeping yourself safe and staying away from the Mafia. You know a lot of my information too, and word tends to get around quickly from the underground to the Hunter Association, if you know what I mean."

"Should I just…" Rita looks up from the ground to see her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She had hurried out in the middle of the auction to take the phone call she was receiving. Her bright orange hair, although still done up in a nice bun, had many fly aways; her face was reddened, and her hands were dreadfully cold. Hazel eyes peered back at her, but Rita was filled with the curious sensation that they weren't exactly hers. "Maybe I should go talk to him?"

"Is your determination failing you now that the eleventh hour is nigh?" Pariston chuckles into the receiver. "This isn't the Rita I met four years ago."

"I'm just being reasonable."

"I'll tell you what Rita. I'm giving you free reign tonight. You can do what you think is the right choice. But my secrets will die with the both of us. Understood?" The unspoken threat hangs heavy over Rita's head. _If they didn't, a fate worse than death would most definitely be in store for her._

* * *

In the thick cover of night, someone clears their throat.

A weak flame flickers to life and then catches on the wick of a small candle, illuminating a crumbling room of concrete walls. The air is chilly, colder than what would be to any of their likings, but it can't really be helped.

As the fire sheds light, twelve other faces become visible. They are set dead straight, uninterested and rather bored.

"It's nice to see you all again." Comes the quiet greeting from the shadowed figure standing at the head of the twelve. "Welcome to Yorkshin City; and the largest auction in the world."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
